


such stars as sworn to shield the sky

by Etharei



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etharei/pseuds/Etharei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of two worlds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the [BEAUTIFUL ART POST HERE](http://xsilverdreamsx.livejournal.com/36805.html) ♥ ♥ ♥
> 
> A world of thanks to xsilverdreamsx for the fantastic artwork, the cheerleading, the beta-reading, and general handholding ♥ Thanks also to our amazing twitter support group: Jane, catnipandhoney, and bookgazing. 
> 
> Special thanks to muppet for organizing yet another awesome big bang. 
> 
> A big hug to Deminos, who gave me the initial idea for this fic. Sorry it didn't quite turn out the way we first planned!

  
**ACT ONE: CAMELOT**

**_Prologue_ **  


Excalibur rattled alarmingly. The whole length of the ship seemed to groan, metal straining, caught in a tangle of opposing forces. In the main viewing-window, Camelot drifted serenely by: a bright sphere of white-purple-blue swirls, presenting a peaceful picture amidst the clamor of half a dozen alarms blasting away inside the bridge.

“Hold on, ‘Scali,” murmured Arthur. “Just a few seconds longer.”

Visible out of one corner of the window, the chunk of meteoric rock that was the reason he’d had to slam his thrusters on so abruptly glittered from its coating of ice crystals - he could see the delicate layers, he’d come so close. Such debris were common hazards, this close to the Dragon, but normally ships’ scanners were able to pick up any sizable objects within the immediate vicinity. 

Which was why, Arthur reflected, it had likely been a very bad idea to venture out this far on his own when Excalibur's systems had lately been having minor glitches. His ship might house a one-of-a-kind AI, but the hardware was as prone to faulty wiring and misaligned sensors as any other ship.

Finally, the terrible shaking ceased. Excalibur began moving away from the meteor, no longer squashed between its own momentum and the reverse push of the thrusters. It was lucky that the meteor hadn't been moving particularly fast. Arthur couldn’t tell if it’d been caught by the aging sun's gravity or just happened to be passing through.

"Sir Leon is transmitting the two-hour warning," Excalibur informed him. Arthur was fairly sure he wasn't imagining the tense, disgruntled tone under the ship's words, for all that synthesized voices were supposed to be entirely emotionless. "Shall we return to Camelot, or are you pretending to be out of range again?"

Arthur sighed. "Sadly, a journey through the Valley of the Fallen Kings cannot be put off as easily as one of my father's banquets. Set a course back to Camelot."

"New course: Camelot," confirmed Excalibur. 

The ship reoriented itself. In the main viewing-window in front of Arthur's pilot-chair, the darkness of space and light-points of stars and the ever-present reddish-gold blush of the nebula gave way to the blues of wild seas and the shimmer of atmosphere. Arthur slumped in his seat, staring blankly at the comp screens hovering in front of him, as around him came the soft slides and hisses of the ship making the necessary adjustments for planetside flight.

There was a faint rattling sound while the ship entered Camelot's atmosphere, reminding Arthur that he had to actually let the techies finish the repairs to his ship before he headed off-world, and also to finalize the requisition forms for the rare mechanical parts that could not be built on Camelot.

Upkeep for a ship like Excalibur was costly; it not only housed a full artificial intelligence system, which was rare in any ship anywhere, but it was set up to look like it _didn’t_ house an AI. A necessary feature, for a ship from Camelot.

As far as Arthur was concerned, the expense was more than worth it. Any other ship would have been _pulverized_ by a stone-bear, for example, instead of only mildly dented. Sir Owen, who had been flying his _Gauntlet_ right beside Excalibur, had barely escaped with his life; the physicians doubted he would ever fly again. And there were those brew-smugglers, whose looks of disbelief Arthur would never forget: when they saw Excalibur bearing down on them, only hours after they'd kidnapped Arthur and left Excalibur gutted of any usable parts and fled to the Healer Moon.

And then there was the way Excalibur looked after him. Guiding him through the fog-shrouded stone pillars north of the Fisher King’s realm; reminding him of his father’s innumerable banquets and feasts; asking after his health because his core temperature read higher than normal.

Despite his deliberate concealment of her full capabilities – or perhaps because of it – there had been stories and whispers about his ship for as long as he could remember; his favorites were the ones that claimed she was, in fact, secretly a rare beast with an indestructible metal shell, sworn to eternal service to Arthur Pendragon, and wise with the knowledge of the ages. In a world where most people lived as if in a bygone era of Earthworld before sky flight was discovered, much less spaceflight, it was understandable that a ship with a sophisticated artificial intelligence would seem like magic. 

It was extremely fortunate that Uther never paid attention to what he deemed to be fanciful superstition, and willingly chalked up Excalibur's improbably successful flights to the skills of his son. 

"Arriving at the Castle in five minutes," said Excalibur. "Shall I switch to primitive mode?"

"If you think it necessary," replied Arthur with obvious reluctance. The handful of people whom Arthur allowed unrestricted access to his ship already knew his secret; in under a day, they would be heading off-world.

"Even Uther will start to notice if there are any more rumors of ghosts haunting the shipyard."

"You are incredibly paranoid, for an AI."

"Only because you exhibit insufficient concern over your high probability of being exiled for breaking the King’s Law.”

Arthur grinned. He knew - because he was the Crown Prince and indulged in his curiosity about the wider galaxy and had thus made a point of acquiring a comprehensive understanding of how programs and codes worked - he _knew_ that AIs gave learnt responses, that the best ones could record and assimilate patterns of interaction until they could convincingly mimic a sentient being. Excalibur had been with him his whole life; nothing and nobody else knew him better. She'd been _created_ for him, to protect him and support him and make him feel comfortable. If she talked back to him, it was because some algorithm in her programming had calculated,

{snark} = {decrease of overall tension 5%} + {heart rate regulated 2%} = {beneficial to health}

He _knew_ this. Intellectually.

He pulled off his glove and rested a hand against the side of the pilot-chair; his skin to her metal, as if touch was something she could feel. Beneath the chair hummed the ship’s Heart: the databanks where her processing centers lived.

Excalibur had come after him and rescued him when, for all intents and purposes, she should have been dead. This, too, he knew.

In the end, what did it matter – she was his; his beautiful, impossible ship.


	2. Chapter 2

The first two minutes were always the worst.

"Cavalcade to Camelot, are you receiving our transmissions? I repeat: this is Cav-Comm Two calling the Camelot delegation, please confirm that you are able-"

Arthur forced his hand to move. Slammed his palm down on the large square button blinking admonishingly up at him. Even that simple movement took every sliver of willpower he had. The entire left arm-unit of his pilot-chair wobbled from the force of it. He sucked in a deep breath, the dry air harsh over the parched sand-tube that was his throat. 

"This is Excalibur, of Camelot," he replied, somehow managing to keep his teeth from chattering. He hoped his voice sounded stronger than how the rest of his body felt. "Transmission is clear."

"Acknowledged. Security codes confirmed. Signature scans from Buoy Alexander confirmed. Sending you our coordinates now."

There was a beep from the pilot-chair. "Coordinates received. We should be arriving in approximately thirty minutes." Arthur released the strap around his chest, slumped forward to hug his knees. It felt as if pins and needles were attacking every part of his body with fire-tipped vengeance. 

"ETA thirty minutes, acknowledged." That was usually it, but this time there was a pause, and the voice on the other end added, "if I may- it is good to see you arriving safely once more, Prince Arthur. Not many men would dare the Valley more than once, let alone year after year, as you have."

Arthur paused in the middle of his second _deep-breath-deep-breath-hold_ cycle. He had to clear his throat twice before he touched the comm button again. "Thank you. It’s Mordred, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied the Comms Officer, surprise evident in his voice. "I didn't think you'd remember, my Lord."

"I have a good memory for voices." Arthur released the button long enough to cough. "You were still in training when we first met. Congratulations on making officer so quickly."

He meant it sincerely, as the young man could not be older than eighteen, but it was also a gentle reminder that Mordred was on duty. Mordred seemed to understand, for he quickly said, "Thank you, Prince Arthur. Safe journey to the Cavalcade."

"My thanks. End line."

The green light outlining the comm button faded. Arthur rubbed a hand over his face. The inside of the ship was slowly growing warmer, mainly from the gradual seepage of heat from the engines. Temperature control was, unfortunately, in the ship's central comp system, which was still booting up.

He glanced out through his side viewing-windows and saw the familiar shape of Leon's ship on his starboard. There was no corresponding ship on the port side, and Arthur didn't know if the painful stabbing in his gut was his body complaining about being subjected to another extreme-condition flight, or a fresh fear that he would have to send yet another name into the Lakes.

"Waiting will not make it any less unpleasant," a gentle voice broke into the quiet. Excalibur sounded a little garbled, at first, then gained coherence with every word. "They are all just as anxious to know as you are."

Some of the weight squeezing down around Arthur's chest and guts abruptly loosened. Excalibur was still with him, had somehow made it through the Dragon yet again. 

"Open a line, please," he instructed the computer.

"Establishing a comm line to all Camelot ships within range," said the AI. "Continue when ready, Arthur."

"This is Excalibur," began Arthur. "Knights, call out your status and relative positions. Formation-list, if you please." 

Uther always ordered his forces according to rank, but Arthur disliked how often the rank-lists placed competent men and women under less competent nobles. Fortunately, the Knights were solely Arthur's to command, and he ordered his formations according to each Knight's strengths and the needs of the flight. During or after combat, there was the added benefit of alerting the whole group to any gaps in their lines.

"This is Lion," reported Leon. "System fully online, no discernible damage. Starboard to Excalibur." A pause. Arthur could imagine Leon meticulously examining the life support readings for his ship, not just the heart-rates but oxygen intake and core temperatures and likely body postures as well. "Passengers are safe and snug."

The line dropped into a long, heavy silence. 

They waited. And waited. 

Arthur, heart thundering, was just about to make the call when a loud whine of electronic distress burst through.

"This is Gryphon," came Lancelot's voice, noticeably strained over a weak connection. Arthur heard a faint "Oh, thank the Gods," over the open line, exactly the same time as he thought the words, and had to double-check that his mic was off. "Something nicked the edge of my left wing, I came out over by Buoy Catherine. Systems online now. Wing needs looking over, but otherwise I'm flying fine. I've got Lamia on my scanner, should be back in formation in ten minutes."

Arthur forced himself to relax his grip on his chair's arm-units. The gap on his port side was accounted for; Lancelot sounded unharmed. A seasoned pilot's chances of surviving the Valley were harrowing enough, let alone if the ship went off-course by even the smallest degree – but if anybody had the skills to fly himself out of a bad fix, it would be Lancelot.

"This is Lamia," piped up Elyan, "flashing my lovely behind for our lad Lancelot. No one tell Gwen, mind - she complains enough that I steal her toys as it is. Green light on my passengers."

Arthur listened to the voices calling down the line, familiar and dear to him in each their own way, and was not the only one to let out a sigh of relief when the last, and newest of their number, Elena of Gawant, confirmed her Pixie's location behind Percy's Dorocha.

 

"There has been a slight increase in the volume of Guard patrol-flights around the outer and middle defense tiers," noted Excalibur.

"Your sensors can detect that much from here?" asked Arthur skeptically. "We've only just come within range of the city."

Excalibur beeped in a way that sounded distinctly like a gentle rebuke. "You may recall that my base configuration is originally that of a survey ship, with an emphasis on advanced data-mining algorithms and fine-grained statistical analyses of raw scan-data. I am able to compare present ship signatures and background emission-levels with scans from all previous visits, taking into account variations due to Standard Space Time and fluctuations in shipping schedules."

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps the increased Guard activity has something to do with the scorch marks on Buoy Alexander?"

The AI was quiet for a moment. "My scans detected and noted the superficial damage to the buoy as we passed it, but the detail did not seem relevant at the time, as ships with improper shielding have been known to malfunction at that depth into the Dragon. Furthermore, the buoys stationed at that depth receive less maintenance than buoys elsewhere, for a similar reason." A quiet beep. "Now that you have postulated it, however, my calculations indicate that the likelihood of a connection between the damaged buoy and the increased Guard is statistically significant."

Arthur patted the side of his arm-unit fondly. "It's reassuring to know that our slow old brains are still good for something."

 

Cavalcade looked, from a distance, like a star that was distinctly not as bright as other stars – a twinkling grey point in a field full of steady whites. The point grew larger as they approached, one body turning into thousands of discrete parts, all of different shapes and sizes. Not even the general shape of the city remained constant: ships arrived and left and relocated continuously. It had become as much a part of the celestial landscape as any planet or sun, having maintained its location at the edge of the Dragon for centuries, and yet, it was forever restless.

At the heart of the swarm lay the mothership, a grand queen tended by countless worker bees. There were visible signs that the ship had seen a great deal of renovation and extension: the wear on the metal, while minimal compared to all the patchwork machinery in Camelot, clearly differed between sections, and there were subtle variations on designs as certain trends fell in and out of fashion over the generations. As in most cities, the mothership was the oldest vessel. 

One particular section was shaped like a tube, and along the length of it spun five thick rings, kept in place by shimmering energy shields that wrapped tightly around each ring. There was no visible energy beam between the tubular ship-section and the rings, no way to see how the shields were projected from the ship. A declaration and demonstration both: Cavalcade's shield technology was one of the most advanced in the Albion cluster. 

Each slowly-rotating ring bore, along the narrow surface of its perimeter, a circular crest from the first High Court: the three Houses and two Guilds who had first established the city. House Green's olive tree, the black-and-grey Shield, House Emrys' brown staff, the blue-and-brown Merchant, and House Pendragon's red-and-gold dragon. The only one of these to survive the centuries intact was House Green. The Pendragon line in Camelot was descended from House Pendragon; but the complicated debacle, known as the Separation, that had surrounded the establishment of a colony on Camelot against the wishes of the Cavalcade Court had, ultimately, led to Pendragon being cast out of the High Court. 

The dozen or so crests of the modern Court were projected around the main facade of Cavalcade-Core, their colors bright against the shipsteel. The Core was the enormous central section that encompassed the Treasury, the West Garden, some of the sprawling Markets, and the mothership, which housed the Great Halls; here, unlike on the rest of the ship-city, the hull was scored with marks and dents. Arthur took count of the crests and blinked at the gold outline around House Caerleon, until he remembered that, yes, the five-year mark had past, and it was Caerleon's turn on the High Seat. 

He was glad - Annis would make a good Queen. Better than her late husband would have done, in any case. Remembering the precarious years after his death, during which Camelot and Caerleon had been at odds, Arthur was grateful that he and Annis had long reached an amiable accord.

"Slow to city limits," he said aloud.

"Speed decreasing to 150 kilometers per hour," acknowledged his AI. 

This close to the city, it was no longer necessary to have his navigation map running: the projection filled up the entire bridge, showing a scale-adjustable, three-dimensional map of everything in the surrounding area, as far as could be detected by his ship's scanners. Arthur liked to see the projection even when he no longer needed it to navigate. He usually set his pilot-chair as the central point, representing the ship itself. The dot labeled 'CAM Lion' was hovering next to Arthur's right shoulder, and the dot labeled 'CAM Gryphon' was lower down, almost touching Arthur’s left arm. The two red-and-gold dots blinked and briefly shifted into darker shades of their colors, indicating a decrease in speed to match Excalibur. A glance over his shoulder showed that the rest of his formation were immediately following suit.

Excalibur led the way to the hangar bay reserved for visiting dignitaries. The Cavalcade was market and waystation and political neutral-zone for most of Albion cluster; there was a constant traffic of ships leaving and arriving at all hours, and a consistently large number of visitors, in addition to the semi-permanent population of merchants and tradesmen.

"And down there are the science labs," Elyan was saying over the comms; likely to Elena, for whom this was a first visit, "they're not very big, but the scientists here have been studying the Dragon for longer than Camelot's existed - not the same scientists, obviously, though you hear things - and they get very agitated if ships wander too close."

"This is also where they develop their shield tech," contributed Leon. "Possibly because certain pilots can't seem to understand what a _No-Fly Zone_ means."

"I understand it just fine."

"Yeah, you just don't listen. This is why Gwen doesn't trust you around her work, you know."

The bickering continued as each of the Camelot ships landed and taxied into the hangar. For all Arthur knew, it continued even after he gave the short order for all ships to power down and then cut his comm line. 

He sat in the pilot-chair for a moment, resting his head back and closing his eyes. Listened to the engines cycling down, the familiar hum of life-support fading away, the faint beeps as Excalibur did the usual diagnostics prior to hibernation. The noise from the hangar outside became more prominent as the ship went quiet. He could hear the busy chittering of cleaning-bots as they drifted from their docking stations high up on the support pillars. The Knights who'd been carrying passengers would be collecting them from their ships’ temporarily reconfigured cargo hold. Orange-robed techs would be standing by, waiting for Arthur to leave so they could run the connect the fuel-line and run the usual checks.

"Another good flight," said Arthur quietly. Any flight where no lives were lost counted as a good flight.

Excalibur let out a soft beep of agreement. "You led your people well."

Arthur rolled his shoulders. "Nice to know that my ship has confidence in my abilities."

Excalibur didn’t reply; but the left arm-unit curled in, with his arm still resting on it, and bumped him gently on the stomach.

Arthur swept his hand along the side of the arm-unit and briefly pressed down on the wrist-hold, as if he was grasping the elbow of one of his Knights in a gesture of gratitude. "Rest well, 'Scali."


	3. Chapter 3

Diplomatic visitors and their entourage were usually housed in the Royal Quarters. Most of the newer structures in Cavalcade were constructed specifically for the city, but the oldest parts still retained features of the ships they had once been. The Royal Quarters had been an enormous, deep-space transport, once, before being refitted and installed with the most luxurious amenities available.

Delegations from Camelot were always assigned the same set of rooms: an oversized, fully-serviced flat for Arthur, shared rooms for the Knights along the same corridor, and individual rooms in an adjacent wing for any additional people, usually advisors and courtiers, who came with them.

"Let me know if you have need of anything," said Arthur to Geoffrey of Monmouth, the leader of the advisors by virtue of seniority. The advisors and courtiers had their own agenda over the course of their stay, determined and approved by the King; Arthur usually saw little of them, and mainly at official functions, or if there was a critical matter which required him to make a decision in Uther's stead.

"Thank you, Prince Arthur," said Geoffrey. He winced when he turned to walk into his room, and smiled apologetically. "Ah, I think I may be getting too old for these journeys."

Loud cursing rang down the hallway in a distinctly high voice. Arthur had to hide a smile; it seemed that Elena had gotten a look at their accommodations. The Knights' rooms were smaller than Arthur's bedroom alone, but still well-appointed, and a far cry from anything to be found on Camelot. He picked up his bags from the porter 'bot's carriage-body and headed for the familiar door to his suite.

At his entrance, the central comp of the suite hummed to life. A holographic computer window was projected into the air above the sitting room's low-set coffee table, displaying the usual welcome message and links to tourist guides. Arthur closed it with a wave of his right hand on his way to the bedroom. 

A sharp spasm cut through his right hand, all of a sudden, sending a hot bolt of pain down the arm. He cursed and instinctively made a fist, his other hand carelessly tossing his bags into the far corner of the bedroom. His right hand shook as he tried to will his muscles into relaxing. The spasm had lasted barely a second, but he knew the ghost of the pain would linger for a while: faint trembling in his fingers and oversensitivity of his skin. 

"Damn it," he muttered. Old wounds were always worse right after going through the Valley. And there was nothing he could do about it, other than push it from his mind.

Right. He needed a nap, a shower, and a small meal; only two out of three were likely to happen, as he still had to present himself at Court.

Sure enough, the next time he padded back outside, still shirtless from his quick shower, there was a new message on the comp: a gentle reminder from Geoffrey that the Court was open for only two more hours.

He assembled a quick sandwich out of the fully-stocked fridge and scarfed it down while pulling on his formal clothing. He only had his shoes left to do when there was a knock on his door. The comp identified the people on the other side as Leon and Lancelot. It occurred to Arthur, as he ordered the comp to unlock the door, that he hadn't even told his Knights about having to appear at Court, yet they'd not only known, but guessed correctly how long it'd take for him to get ready.

"Sire," said Leon, after Lancelot had asked why Arthur was staring at them with a gob smacked expression and Arthur had conveyed his epiphany, "this is the fifth time we've done this. Not including the years we accompanied the King."

"And we've done countless missions and patrols and duties together on top of that," added Lancelot, who was frowning at Arthur's shirt. "Our habits have become very similar, down to the number of minutes we spend in the shower."

"I remember when Percival used to take twice as long as everyone else," said Leon. He started eyeing Arthur's clothing as well. "Now he's in and out the same time as Arthur."

Arthur was about to ask if he'd put his clothing on backwards, or overlooked a loose thread, for the two of them to be staring at him so, when Lancelot wordlessly grabbed hold of his jacket and adjusted it. At the exact same time, Leon snuck his hands under said jacket and sharply tugged Arthur's outer tunic down. 

"Did you _have_ to eat bread while wearing this fabric?" sighed Leon mournfully. Arthur treated him to a half-hearted glare, which the Knight thoroughly ignored.

Eventually Arthur was judged sufficiently presentable, and the three of them made the familiar journey to Cavalcade-Core.

~ . ~

_A high Queen on a high Throne,_ thought Arthur with no small measure of awe, the moment he laid eyes on the High Seat. The tall, regal figure seated upon it was recognizable even from the other end of the Inner Hall. 

Annis of House Caerleon had a presence that could fill up any room that she was in, commanding attention in a quiet, terrifyingly stern way. The previous King, Bayard of Mercia, had been respected well enough, had cut a dignified figure wearing the shiny crown and sitting on the ornate seat. Queen Annis, on the other hand, radiated such authority that the crown and seat looked almost incidental, as if they were in contact with her person only on sufferance, and may be disposed of at any moment without any noticeable effect on her ruling ability.

She didn't quite smile when she noticed Arthur walking slowly down the hall. Her expression, as well as that of the other House Seats' lined up on either side of her on the raised dais, remained firmly on polite interest. Nevertheless, the hushed whispering from the watching courtiers rose slightly in volume, and the petitioner currently holding the floor began to speak faster.

"...it is clear that the raiders are growing bolder, your Majesty. I understand that it is not feasible for Cavalcade to provide a security escort for every merchant-ship and caravan travelling within the Albion cluster, but surely some measures can be taken, especially around the nearest station for the InterSol network-"

Arthur kept half an ear on the proceedings, whilst taking the opportunity to spot any changes to the Inner Hall since his last visit. It was hard to remember that he was inside a ship when he was in a room that easily dwarfed his father’s banquet hall. The high ceilings and ornamented walls gave the space an airy feel, while simultaneously drawing the eye to where the Court Seats were arrayed. He would have thought it the grandest room in the city, if not for the Outer Hall being twice its size and twice as ostentatiously dressed. The door connecting the two was closed, today, which meant that the Guards posted there would only admit people into the Inner Hall if they had business to be there. The Outer Hall was always open to the public.

His attention snapped back to the floor when he heard Lady Nimueh’s standard, "Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention, Master Collins. Be assured that the Court will discuss the issue thoroughly."

There were at least three other petitioners standing by, likely having waited for hours to get a turn, and Arthur would have been more than happy to wait for them to present their cases first. Yet each of them bowed and made the waving gesture for surrendering the floor. Formal law might state that a commoner took precedence even over a King if the commoner had entered the Inner Hall first, but informal politics took the view that it was best not to risk angering the King, lest one then earned the disfavor of the Court. Arthur nodded apologetically at the petitioners as he strode past them.

Queen Annis stood when he entered the floor. The rest of the Court followed suit, somewhat less gracefully. The arrangement of the Seats remained unchanged from his previous visits: the High Court occupied a dais, with the High Seat in the middle, and the rest of the Court were in rows at ground level. The floor was an oval space that was a step lower than the rest of the Inner Hall. 

"Welcome to Cavalcade, Prince of Camelot," she greeted him. 

"Camelot is honoured," responded Arthur, "And Camelot honours the peace that has been built."

"Peace is the honour." 

It was strange, Arthur had always thought - the words were purely tradition, and yet a thread of tension seemed to dissipate, so subtle that it was realized only in its absence. Likely no one who had not studied the history of Cavalcade would know the meaning behind the traditional greeting. Camelot could no more threaten Cavalcade now than it could when the first High Court were all that remained of a far greater Fleet. If not for the persistent threat of raiders and the occasional war refugees from other parts of the galaxy, all that the people of Cavalcade would know of fighting would be from the entertainment streams.

It was hard to believe that the Cavalcade had once been a ragtag fleet of ships trying to escape the great war that had eventually brought down Essetir. 

Perhaps that was why there was always a sense of _weight_ with this ceremony, brief as it was; as if something in the place that was Cavalcade remembered still.

Formalities done, Queen Annis' expression gentled slightly. "You look well, Prince Arthur. You must be commended for another successful journey through the Valley Of The Fallen Kings."

Long experience prevented Arthur from wincing. He was a good pilot, he knew, and had a fairly solid idea of his own capabilities. But being praised for _that_ flight, as if making the passage was due to his skill - when surviving the Valley was more luck than anything else - had never sat well with him. And Annis knew it. "Thank you, your Majesty. Belated congratulations on the High Seat."

Annis disliked gaining power she felt she had not earned, never mind that the Court would have given her the High Seat years ago if they'd been able to. Her eyebrow twitched, as if to say: _touché_.

"And how is your esteemed father?" she asked smoothly.

"He is well," Arthur replied. "He sends his greetings, and extends the usual invitation for Cavalcade to visit our Court."

"Most kind," said Annis, inclining her head graciously.

It was a polite fiction that the Pendragons maintained with the Lords of the Cavalcade: that they were each equally welcome in the other's home Court, should they ever choose to visit. The caveat being, of course, that they would be subject to the laws of the host territory, and Arthur could not see any of Cavalcade's glittering citizenry going without easy access to a compad for more than a day. 

And there was, always, the small matter of the Dragon.

Queen Annis, at least, had never been anything but frank with him. Even in the rough period when the then-Lady Annis blamed Arthur for her husband's death, she'd kept her sentiments plain, and acted with honor. Arthur found even her displeasure preferable to some of Uther's most fervent 'allies'.

“Join us in counsel,” said Annis. She inclined her head; Arthur bowed, for the last time. The Council sat back down. Arthur took the Seat reserved for his House, right next to the dais

A deep bell sounded, echoing through the Core. It signaled the time for Chamber-At-The-Close, the point when the Inner Hall was closed and the Court adjourned to a private meeting room to discuss the day's business. Leon and Lancelot approached from where they'd stationed themselves at the back of the Hall. Arthur waited for the Court to file through the door to the side of the dais. He exchanged a look with Queen Annis, who was standing before the High Seat but would not descend from the dais until the last of the Court had left the room.

Arthur had asked his father about that particular tradition on his first trip to the city, and Uther had replied, "The Cavalcade was a ship, once. The High Seat held the Captain."

All of Camelot's ships were small, single-pilot, so it had taken Arthur a while to understand what that meant.

Camelot had a strange, semi-permanent position in the Court. The Seat reserved for House Pendragon was right next to the High Court’s dais, signifying great influence, and whenever a representative from Camelot was present in Cavalcade, they had the same rights and duties as any other member of the Court. 

There were often at least half a dozen diplomats and political envoys visiting Cavalcade at any one time, and some of these were granted temporary positions in the Court for the duration of their stay. Due to the not insignificant distance between the Albion cluster and the rest of colonized space, events in other parts of the galaxy seldom affected them. But the forces of trade and commerce were unstoppable, so even if Cavalcade primarily dealt with matters concerning Albion, they still saw the occasional representatives from outside the cluster. Currently, two such groups of visiting dignitaries seemed to have been awarded the privilege of temporary Seats: a man from Ruska and a nervous-looking pair from S’Hara. The latter had to be discreetly nudged by a black-robed aide towards the door; first-time visitors, then.

Arthur drifted along with the rest of the Court and stepped into the narrow passageway, but waved his Knights ahead of him. Annis gave him an exasperated look when she finally arrived at the door and saw him waiting. She took his proffered arm without complaint, though.

The private meeting took place in the Close, which apparently used to be secret and routinely relocated, but the Court had been using the same small room, a short walk away from the Halls, for as long as Arthur had been leading the Camelot delegations.

His Knights, and all additional personnel, were left to wait in an adjoining room. Arthur knew that the Close was shielded to prevent sound from escaping, but there were no obvious signs of the technology in the smooth shipsteel walls overlaid with wood - real wood, too - though the lights dimmed minutely the moment the door sealed itself shut. The sound-shield must work both ways, as the hum of the engines was barely detectable; it was easy to imagine that the room was planetside. Inside the Close, two concentric ring-shaped tables took up most of the space, the smaller inside the larger one. The High Council sat in the smaller, inner table, while the rest of the Court were scattered along the outer. Arthur settled into his usual place.

The first order of business was the petition that had been on the floor when Arthur arrived. 

"This is the fifth time Cenred's raiders have been brought up in the Inner Hall in this week alone," said Annis. She had elected to stand in the small space in the middle of the inner table. It was not strictly necessary, nor even custom, but doing so demonstrated the reigning leader's strength and perseverance in their duty. 

"And it is no longer just the merchants," said Lord Green. "I sent out the order for all shipment transports to report any sightings of the raiders, just as you asked, Your Majesty. It seems that, for months now, most of the transports have been noticing the presence of at least one unidentified vessel at some point on the route between Cavalcade and the InterSol station. Few of them officially reported the sightings because each thought it was a singular occurrence, and the vessel or vessels never came close. That is, until two weeks ago, when the vessels began executing quick runs alongside the transports."

"Would one of the raider ships be able to take down a full transport?" asked one of the newcomers worriedly.

"No, not in a direct confrontation," answered Lord Aulfric, Guildmaster of the Shipbuilders. "Each transport has standard defensive capabilities. It would take, at the least, four of the raider ships working together before they pose a significant threat."

"And the moment one transport reports an attack, our Guards will be dispatched," said Queen Annis. "They would not get far with their bounty."

"Then disabling our transports is not their goal," said the Trades Minister, a man of middling height and fondness for colorful sashes, whose name Arthur could never remember. In fact, Arthur couldn't be sure if it was the same man from his previous visit; the High Seat held the authority to appoint new Ministers and Directors, and a change-over usually involved a bit of reshuffling. 

"Nonetheless, they are clearly gathering information," said Lord Green, "which ought to concern us. And then there are the attacks on the smaller private merchant ships. Cenred has never been so bold."

"Are we sure that it is still Cenred who leads them?" asked Lady Nimueh. 

"As far as we know," said Queen Annis. "But there are rumors that he has taken on a new advisor. Whispers only, and not so much as a reliable description, which suggests a certain level of fear towards this person."

"I trust that you have Servants working on the matter?" asked Lord Green mildly. 

Queen Annis didn't so much as incline her head, but the calm way she gazed back at him somehow conveyed the same meaning. The High Seat, in all the history of Cavalcade, had never openly admitted to the use of spies and clandestine methods for achieving their goals, and yet everyone knew that there existed a network of agents pledged to the protection of Cavalcade, who answered only to the High Seat. Certainly all the High Court knew, as each of them would have access to that same network during their tenure on the High Seat.

Personally, Arthur was confident that the effectiveness of the Servants was more based on rumor and the wild inventiveness of the entertainment streams.

The small non-assurance seemed to mollify the Court, and they spent several more minutes speculating on Cenred's intentions. Arthur was content to stay silent through it; he had learned, through hard experience, that it was better to observe quietly until he gained a firm sense of current dynamics and political hierarchies. The Cavalcade was very different from Camelot's Court; more welcoming and less outwardly harsh, yet the lines of politics were infinitely more complicated, the pitfalls far more difficult to spot.

It was eventually decided that the patrols had to be increased. Arthur mused at the careful way even such a step was considered; Uther would have sent out his forces at the first hint of an attack, and discussed it with his Court after.

"Prince Arthur," said the Queen. Arthur had been sitting properly and attentively all this while - any temptation to relax his posture had been trained out of him before puberty - but he could feel his spine attempting to straighten still further. "The Knights of Camelot are known as the best warriors in all of Albion."

Her words carried enough of hint of what she was asking. Arthur's mind raced; he felt annoyed at himself for not seeing this coming. He wondered if she couldn't have waited until he'd at least rested from the journey through the Valley. But no, of course not - the matter had come up now, and she was hardly going to coddle him when the security of her city was being challenged.

He tapped the surface of the table in front of him in order to activate the mic. "My Knights and I are at your command, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Prince Arthur," said Queen Annis. "Then I shall consider this matter closed for the moment - any objections?" She paused for the requisite five seconds. "Very well, next on the agenda is-" She paused, reading something on the compad in her hand, and swiveling around. "Yes, Lord Green, you have an announcement?"

"Aye, your Majesty," said Lord Green. He cleared his throat. "My son has completed the Days and will be arriving on the morrow. He shall present himself to the Court at the earliest possible opportunity."

"Very good," said the Queen. And here she did incline her head. "Honour upon House Green."

Arthur was frowning quizzically at the exchange; he couldn't see the point of such an announcement, especially as Lord Green was a stickler for protocol. Families of Court members arrived and left all the time, the few occasions it became the Court's business were-  
A light swipe of one finger over the table-top opened a small, discreet window with a search field, and a corresponding virtual keyboard. His fingers moved noiselessly over the keys floating an inch above the table. It only took a couple of carefully-selected terms before he found the news article, dated two months previous: **Heir-of-House Green Killed In Action**.

Arthur remembered His Grace Gareth - a handful of years older than Arthur, quiet and soft-spoken, obedient to his father. Uther had approved of him, naturally, which would have made Arthur dislike him on sight. Except Gareth had once taken Arthur to see his ship, when Arthur was yet too young to fly Excalibur, and then patiently answered his questions and allowed Arthur to sit in the pilot-chair.

Now he'd been shot down by one of Cenred's raiders. Not even an assassination or a targeted attack, which was not uncommon for the Houses, but a handful of raiders harrying a merchant caravan. The caravan had had their own security escort, but had requested help from Cavalcade, as was their right. 

An unlucky shot, a weakness in the shields, a failure in the engines - there seemed to be conflicting reports - and somehow three of Cavalcade's ships were down, and the raiders had gotten away.

The Days. Days of Mourning, an old tradition wherein an important member of a grieving House would go into seclusion for one month. 

Arthur looked at Lord Green with a new measure of respect. These discussions about the raiders could not have been easy, and yet, Lord Green had been advising caution at every turn, with nary a hint of being affected on a personal level. 

Impulsively, Arthur pulled up his message console. He was aware how much, potentially, of _a very bad idea_ this was; Lord Green could out-glare Uther, had never given Arthur an ounce more attention than their responsibilities required, and generally ignored Arthur's existence outside of the Court.

But, on the other hand, the man had never been cruel, or deliberately discourteous - he'd always, always listened to what Arthur had to say. Of course, he usually took Arthur's arguments apart afterwards, but at least he _listened_.

 _My sincere condolences upon your loss,_ typed Arthur. _Gareth was a good man. Honour upon House Green._

He sent it before he could reconsider, and immediately winced when he realized that he'd neglected to use Gareth's title. Years of etiquette lessons tumbled through his head - was he supposed to apply the title to a deceased family member, or did the title now technically belong to the new Heir-Of-House? Not to mention that sending non-relevant messages during Chamber-At-The-Close was generally considered rude and a sign of inattention.

Lord Green didn't look at him, or showed any signs of receiving his message; there was not the slightest faltering in the semi-regular rhythm of his head turning from the Queen to his compad and back to the Queen again. 

Just as Arthur was on the verge of sending some kind of apology, a new message appeared in his inbox, with a tiny icon of the olive tree of House Green next to it.

 _Thank you,_ said the message simply, _Honour upon Heir-Of-House Pendragon._

 

"How is the old fox, really?" asked Annis. "Is he still being unreasonable about the evils of technology?"

"The same as always," sighed Arthur.

It had become their custom to dine together privately on the first night of Arthur's stay, and Arthur was pleased to know that it would be continuing even when Annis held the crown. When they first began, it was because the then-Lady Annis could barely stand the sight of him, and Arthur felt that he was being indirectly blamed for her husband's death; an assassin aiming for Arthur had shot Caerleon instead. It did not help that Arthur had not had a high opinion of her husband, thinking the man to be cowardly and arrogant, and could not bestir in himself any genuine remorse for Caerleon's death. Dining together fulfilled their obligations as representatives of their people and quieted the gossipmongers.

Now, it was one of the few appointments Arthur looked forward to. Annis did not seem any more inclined to dress her opinions up in politics, despite becoming Queen. It was one of the reasons he felt able to relax in her presence, though he spared a measure of sympathy for her attendants, who likely had to do more work in smoothing ruffled feathers. Luckily, they were all young members of her House, and seemed fondly resigned to their positions.

"How long will you be staying, this time?" asked Annis.

"Leon has estimated that the Valley will remain open for approximately four weeks. Perhaps three weeks, then, barring any changes to the Dragon."

Annis nodded, understanding. It was difficult to predict anything about the Dragon with any degree of accuracy. The most they could do was estimate, and be ready to act on any unexpected changes.

Physicists, astronomers, chemists, engineers, energy specialists, even mystics, had spent over a century attempting to study the enormous, expansive nebula that shrouded Camelot's old sun system. Nebulae, in general, were known for occasionally interfering with electronics and transmissions. But the Dragon was unique in a number of different ways; the most significant being the peculiar field generated by the gold and crimson ionized matter, which catastrophically scrambled any form of active electronics that attempted to pass through it. Studying something that fried the sensitive instruments with which one was trying to study it was, naturally, exceptionally troublesome. The effect of the field extended to the planet, though with a slightly lessened intensity. This was why the Knights’ ships had nearly all analogue systems and Excalibur was a flying improbability.

"I only just learned about His Grace Gareth," said Arthur.

"Captain Gareth," corrected Annis. "Only confirmed House titles and titles of merit apply after death." She frowned the way she usually did when she thought that whomever had tutored Arthur on etiquette had done a sub-par job of it. "Such a waste. At least it made the Council realize that this situation with the raiders is quite serious. Of course, Green now thinks it's his mission to stall the Council at every point, because the Gods forbid he be accused of having any sort of _bias_.”

"The raiders were not an issue during my last visit," said Arthur.

"Oh, they were," said Annis, "it was just not as noticeable yet. And then-King Bayard didn't think it was a priority." She nodded at Arthur, smiling with just her eyes. "I appreciate you handing yourself and your Knights to me on a silver platter, by the by."

Arthur scowled. It was too much to hope that no one else in the Court had picked up on the wording: on the fact that he'd placed the Knights under Annis' command, not the Court's. "You didn't leave me much choice."

"If thinking so helps you sleep better, my dear." 

"Well. I suppose I’d rather take orders directly from you than wait on a consensus from the High Court," stated Arthur baldly.

Annis blinked at him. "It is really that simple for you, isn't it?"

Arthur shrugged. "My father is not entirely wrong about everything."

"Ah."

After a moment, Arthur casually asked, "So, have you learned who Emrys is?"

Annis didn’t bet an eye. "Even if I have, it is none of your concern," she replied, “and I must thank you for winning me a bet; I told Sefa that you would ask."

Emrys - the House that was not a House. It was said that the name had once belonged to an old man who had had no children, no living family, whose life-long service and loyalty to the people had been unmatched. The name came to mean 'Protector'; the unseen defender of the King or Queen. Unlike the Guards or the Servants, anyone could be named Emrys, regardless of House, station, or occupation. 

They finished the rest of the dinner on less consequential talk. It wasn't until they were sipping coffee that whatever thought process Annis had been working on seemed to yield some kind of decision.

"I will have you and your Knights integrated into the patrol roster," said Annis. "Do you have any requests?"

Arthur shook his head. "Only that we are kept together." It hit him that he really did trust Annis; for anyone else, he would have stated the requirement before the Court, to bear the weight of a contract.

"Of course," agreed Annis. "I doubt even Uther himself would dare cross the legendary Knights of Camelot." 

"Well, it has certainly been a while since he tried using my people against me," said Arthur cautiously. Annis was known for her frankness, but she was still a noble of the Cavalcade Court, and the head of a House. He was reminded of the Toe-Tip Trail along the Creaking Cliffs back home, where the ledge was so narrow, and the Cliffs overshadowed by the great _béamsceadu_ far above, that the only way to walk across was by feeling for the edge using the tip of one's bare feet; that same disorienting uncertainty.

"Your Knights are regarded with no small degree of awe amongst our warriors." Annis tilted her head. "Did you not know?"

"I've heard plenty of your people's views on Camelot."

"When you were young, and too easily provoked, I'm sure." She waved her hand, as if jeering taunts and bruising fists were dust that could be brushed away. "And I said the _warriors_ , not the general public. Captain Gareth was one of your staunchest admirers, in fact."

It was a small detail, inconsequential. Still, Arthur felt a surge of... something. 

"As you heard earlier, Lord Green's second son will arrive some time tomorrow, in order to take his place in his father's House. I have not seen him for many years, so he may be much changed. But if he is not," she paused, and Arthur braced himself, because she only hesitated when she expected resistance, "he will, at some point, ask you to teach him to fight."

Arthur stared at Annis. He thought of Lord Green's message. "And you want me to - warn him off?"

Annis leveled too-keen eyes on him. "I leave that up to you. I should clarify - he knows how to pilot a ship, as is expected of all the nobility here. He was quite good, if memory serves me correctly, but never showed much interest in it beyond as a recreational pursuit." She spread her hands. "Now, well. He is a young man, and from all accounts, had loved and greatly admired his older brother. Service in the Guard isn't _quite_ expected of Heirs-of-House, even for the High Court. But this is House Green."

Arthur nodded. Acknowledged or no, he knew well the mantle of an old and proud House. "Why me? Surely someone of his standing can expect to be granted mentorship by any veteran in the city."

"Because you inspire the best in others," said Annis easily. "And he will see, I'm sure, that you will not lie to him to spare his feelings, or because of who his father is." She put down her empty coffee cup, the ancient china clinking delicately against its matching saucer. "Arthur, I'm not particularly concerned whether or not he becomes a warrior. What I am asking you to do is to ensure that he _survives_. If you judge him unsuited to the task, then I ask that you inform him, in a way that he will believe. But if, however, you think he has the skill for it - and it may be that such a path will give him the best chance, with the times ahead - then I ask you to teach him what he must know, to the best of your ability."

It was - a strange request, to say the least. He’d always wondered what it must be like, to think so many steps ahead, to be continuously aware of ever-shifting possible outcomes. "You think that something's going to happen?"

"I think many things are going to happen."

He knew, from her tone, that that was all she was going to give him. "I'll see what I can do," said Arthur. 

"Wait until he asks," said Annis. "Perhaps he will not. Either way, it is important that the request comes from him."

Arthur finished the last of his coffee. "What is his name?"

"Gwaine. His Grace Gwaine."


	4. Chapter 4

There was a quiet flurry of movement around the grand doorway that connected the Inner and Outer Halls. Arthur only barely restrained his sigh of relief; the morning session of the Court had been quite trying. His body, used to rough treatment, had not reported the full effects of the previous day's rigors until Arthur reached his quarters, whereupon it exacted revenge by sending him into a slumber so deep that Leon had had to make use of his override code to wake his Prince up before he could be late for Council. Arthur felt as if he'd barely slept at all, and it was a struggle to maintain an attentive mien in front of Cavalcade's nobles.

The crowd of courtiers and petitioners and various media personnel shifted aside to give way to the new arrivals. Arthur caught a glimpse of olive-green uniforms: it would seem that Lord Green's son had arrived.

Most of the group stopped behind the area reserved for petitioners. Three continued forth without breaking stride: a scowling woman wearing the sash of a House Guard, a young dark-haired attendant, and a richly-dressed young man who could only be His Grace Gwaine. 

Queen Annis stood up, as she had done for Arthur the previous day. Arthur eagerly sprang to his feet. He hoped he was not being too obvious about stretching the soreness out of his legs and back.

Guard and attendant stopped at the edge of the floor. His Grace Gwaine continued until he was standing in the middle of the circular space, directly in front of the center of the dais where the Queen stood. 

Arthur found himself studying His Grace Gwaine's face with Annis' words fresh in his mind. Gwaine looked to be of an age with Arthur. There was a practiced ease about his pleasant expression that hinted at someone confident in his personal charm and accustomed to making use of it. Arthur had met the like before, usually in taverns and bars, and usually with a fight not too far away. Gwaine had been a second son with an older brother any father would be proud of - it was hardly a unique situation. 

Arthur might have dismissed him right then, but for the look in Gwaine's eyes.

He'd seen that sort of gaze before. Something in him sparked to life, curious; like a wild berry-bear sensing another nearing its tree. If this were Camelot, and Gwaine not a child of a House as old as Pendragon, Arthur would have pulled him into the sparring ring, to see what he was made of.

"Welcome, Heir-Of-House Green," intoned Queen Annis.

“I come to the Court in peace,” replied Gwaine.

Lord Bayard said, “House Mercia greets the Heir-of-House Green.” The confirmations continued all the way down the dais, each member of the High Court recognizing His Grace Gwaine in his new title. 

Finally, Gwaine made a deep bow and said, “Peace is the honour.”

The Court settled back down again. The next petitioner came forward. Arthur silently indulged in a brief flash of envy when His Grace Gwaine, surrounded by his retinue once more, discreetly left the Inner Hall after a quick word with Lord Green. Of course, technically Arthur could have pleaded tiredness and excused himself from Court duty for a day or two, but he would have to report as such to Uther when he went home, and Arthur would endure a great deal more than lost sleep just to avoid a fresh round of his father's cold disappointment.

It was a little easier to remain awake, in any case, now that he had his first impression of the Heir-of-House Green to mull over. He hoped his interest had not been too obvious. Arthur had the odd feeling that he'd been observed, in turn; only, he had not caught anyone looking his way. Gwaine's eyes had never strayed from the dais.

Queen Annis' expression was pensive when they broke for lunch, and Arthur was fairly sure it was not because of how body-part replacement technology was apparently corrupting society's morals, a subject on which the previous petitioner had waxed eloquent, seemingly without any intention of ever stopping.

He waited for her by the door to the Outer Hall. Elena and Elyan dutifully shuffled out with most of the crowd, though they remained within sight. When she took his arm, he said, quietly, "He is not as you expected."

"No," she admitted. "He seemed much younger when he was last here. Very loud, very brash." She paused. "He still is, from what I hear. But there is something else there. You will not, I think, find him unfamiliar with battle."

Arthur nodded. " _Another has put the sword in his hands,_ as my people say."

"He is still Heir-Of-House," said Annis. "If anything, it's even more important now that he has somebody to guide him."

"I agree. In fact, I think this makes it easier." Arthur shrugged. "A spoiled noble would have been a challenge - you taught me most of what I know about diplomacy, you know how unsuited I am to it. But a warrior - that, I can understand."

"And what do you think you understand about young Gwaine?" asked Annis, half-teasing and half-serious.

"Sharp. Sees more than he lets on. Knows exactly how good he is." Arthur smiled, and there was nothing happy about it. "Anybody who wants his loyalty will have to earn it - but once given, he will be loyal to the last."

 

"Did you see much of the place yesterday?" Arthur eventually thought to ask Elena, after Annis was called away to do some informal politicking. Being in the High Court often meant sacrificing regular meal-times; Annis had once shown him the nutrient bars she stored somewhere in her robes, to be consumed gradually over the course of the day. 

Once the Queen was gone, Arthur's two Knights could approach without being scrutinized by half a dozen Guards. "Percival gave me a tour of the Core," answered Elena. "But we didn't go further than that. I was utterly _wiped_ after a few hours, nearly fell asleep on top of dinner. I have no idea how you were able to go right into work, sire."

"The first few times through the Valley are the hardest," said Arthur, "It is not something our bodies are built for. I didn't even last an hour after my first flight."

"Sleep was the best thing for you to do," Elyan reassured her. "You wouldn't have been able to get much further on your tour, anyway, it usually takes at least twelve hours for our local profiles and security accesses to get through."

They wound their way towards the Core’s public mess hall. There were restaurants around the Market, and exclusive dining rooms for courtiers, and he had an open invitation to the private table of at least a dozen Houses and Guilds, yet Arthur preferred to eat with his Knights. His tiredness receded slightly as he answered Elena’s many questions about the Inner and Outer Halls; apparently Elyan had done his best during their honorary guard duty that morning, but he was less familiar with the history of the place than Arthur. The lunch hour crush meant that it was impossible to go any faster than a steady walk. Arthur didn’t mind –they had plenty of time, as Elyan and Elena were both faster eaters than Arthur.

There was a clatter nearby. Arthur instinctively turned his head. Spotted a man ducking down to pick up a handful of items that had spilled out of his bag. The crowd shifted, pushing Arthur and his Knights to the side. At first, Arthur thought it was out of consideration for the man, who seemed to be having difficulty – until he saw the way people avoided touching him, including a couple who hurriedly herded their children in the opposite direction.

"Why isn't anybody helping him?" grumbled Elena. She darted forward and quickly gathered the last of the man's fallen effects. Cheap protein paste and a battered old compad, from what Arthur could see.

The man muttered something, presumably his thanks, and Elena gently helped him to his feet via a steady hand on his arm. The sleeve of his outer robe slipped back a little, revealing letters burned into skin that was several shades paler than the rest of him. 

Elena saw it, and gave no reaction. The man quickly pulled down his sleeve, muttered something further, and hurried off.

She rejoined Elyan and Arthur with a confused expression on her face. "What's a 'Poppet'?" 

"Superstition," answered Elyan, "Comes from that old belief about dolls being used to control people. Derogatory term for Crips."

"Crips, as in," Elena's face scrunched up into the expression she usually wore when trying to learn complex flight theory, "CRIP, for Cybernetic Replacement and Integration Protocol?" 

"Aye." Elyan shook his head, looking uncomfortable. "I guess it’s, like – saying that people who use that kind of tech aren’t really people anymore, because they’re so dependent on machinery. 

"That's awful," said Elena, "and possibly one of the stupidest things I've ever heard."

Elyan nodded. “Where it comes from – the idea that people who have some kind of disability are less valuable than those who don't – has, unfortunately, hung around for a long time. And if that doesn’t mess things up enough, there are those who are trying to push it further; they believe that people who cannot survive without the help of tech should no longer be considered fully human. Next time you’re walking around the Markets, listen to what those Old Religion zealots are shouting – they’re claiming that CRIP technology is making us weak, it’s going against nature, blah blah, humanity will slowly and inevitably turn into robots." 

“I thought it was that the Crips are going to fall prey to malevolent programming and kill everyone?” said Arthur.

“That was _last year_ , Pendragon, keep up,” grinned Elyan.

Elena was now scowling at random passers-by, as if blaming them personally for humanity’s inexplicable bouts of thoughtless folly. “How do people even come up with such things? I mean, I get the purpose of the King’s Law, at least, even if I don’t like it.”

“Kinda wish the _King_ would remember the purpose of the King’s Law,” muttered Elyan quietly.

As if remembering that he was there, Elena turned to look at Arthur, a question in her eyes.

They weren't far apart in age, the three of them – but some days Arthur's title seemed to weigh a few additional lifetimes.

"You are both aware of my father's views on technology," he said, and paused pointedly. "However, on a personal level-" Arthur glanced away, in the direction the man had gone. "I can't help but wonder, of course," if they weren't living on Camelot, if they were living someplace else where such a level of tech had any chance of lasting, if they weren’t _Pendragon_ , "if such tech could have saved my mother."

 

The message arrived at the end of Chamber-At-The-Close. Arthur frowned. A wave of his hand closed all his comp windows. Outside, Galahad and Lancelot straightened up at his approach.

"Hangar," said Arthur shortly. 

Galahad looked slightly confused, but Lancelot only nodded. "It's been three days."

Arthur had forgotten. 

The walk to the hangar bays was silent and brisk. The Camelot ships were docked right in the middle of a busy hangar; fortunately, Arthur would be able to recognize Excalibur's shape anywhere.

"My Lord," said one of the techies, hurrying up to him. "We did na' do anything, sir, it just started up by itself-"

"She's meant to," said Arthur. He was suddenly, achingly aware that he had barely had any chance to rest since his arrival, between his duties to the Court and meetings with various nobles and keeping abreast of Geoffrey's team. He glanced at the techie's name tag. "Thank you, Gili. I'll look after her from here."

The techie looked unsure but bowed quickly. "Of course, my Lord."

Arthur could hear the low hum of the auxiliary systems. He exchanged a nod with Lancelot, and knew that the Knight would stand guard outside until his replacement arrived at the change of shift. He could hear Lancelot dismissing Galahad for the rest of the evening shift as he walked up the narrow ramp at the back of the ship. The rear bay door slid open.

The rush of cooler air felt more welcoming than any Court ceremony. He ran a gentle hand over the cold bulkhead on his way to the bridge. 

"Have you been giving the techies a hard time?" he asked aloud with a smile.

He didn't know what he would do, if he ever lost his ship. It was the sort of dependency on technology that his father had spent all of Arthur's life crusading against. Arthur did his best not to dwell on the irony.

“I am equipped to perform my own diagnostics and self-repair,” answered Excalibur, snippily.

He went through the usual checks, walking the corridors and inspecting the various control panels for different areas. Nothing seemed out of place, or in need of repair. He ended up in the bridge. Inspected the pilot-chair, tested each arm-unit and leg-unit separately. Then sat down and cycled through the nav, the comms, the life support, the scanners, the weapons systems. 

“Everything seems to be fine,” he said, resting his head back.

“Internal diagnostics support your assessment.”

“Elena seems to be settling in well.” He toyed with one of the clasps sticking out of one side of the seat, which served to anchor the chest strap required for flights through the Valley of the Fallen Kings. “I think having her along is good for Elyan, to take his mind off his father’s condition.”

“Has Master Tom not improved?”

“Not much. He still insists on working, though everyone knows how heavily he’s relying on Gwen.”

Arthur yawned. He was distantly aware of the pilot chair gently adjusting, the back lowering and the leg-units rising until he was nearly horizontal. There were wires poking him in odd places; his tunic and decorative chainmail – because he hadn’t bothered to change from Court – did little to insulate him from the cold seeping right through the worn seat-padding; the noise of the hangar outside was muffled but still audible, as sound-shields were not particularly known about in Camelot.

He was asleep within minutes.

 

"Excuse me!"

Another body made contact with his, and Arthur responded the only way he knew how - by shoving the intruder back, hard, one hand reaching for the sword hanging from his belt. His fingers closed around empty air. He remembered, right, Cavalcade, no weapons allowed in the Markets.

 _Watch where you're going_ , he meant to snap. 

The young man - Arthur would have said he was a boy, if not for his height and a certain way he carried himself - gave Arthur a rueful grin. He looked like he was used to bouncing off strangers in crowded places. "Sorry. I did try to excuse myself."

The words died in Arthur's throat.

A surge in the crowd jostled the young man closer. His eyes, Arthur noted, were extremely, excessively blue. Utterly ridiculous, really. Perhaps they were trying to make up for the ears.

"I didn't break you, did I?" asked the stranger. 

The despairing remains of Arthur's dignity finally rallied a response. "Please," huffed Arthur. "I've been trained to kill since birth." Somewhere, his old etiquette tutor was weeping in shame.

That got him a wider grin. "Funny," said the stranger. "So have I."

"Merlin!"

Another young man appeared, peering over Merlin's shoulder. Well, bouncing up onto the balls of his feet to do so, as he was not tall enough otherwise. "Making friends?"

"Trying not to make enemies," said the one who was evidently named Merlin. "I thought you said you had Court today?"

"I did, until Lady Nimueh banished me from the Hall," said the other, "she claimed that my presence was detrimental to the overall gravitas of the session. Can you believe that?”

Arthur blinked. He hadn't recognized them, at first, because the newcomer was dressed casually, his finery limited to a heavy gold ring and one earring, and his hair was unbound and unadorned. 

"Lord of the Green," said Arthur with surprise.

The young noble winced. "Call me Gwaine, please. My father is the Lord of the Green."

"Technically you are also Lord of the Green, now that you are Heir-of-House," supplied Merlin helpfully. "And just because you don't care for protocol doesn't mean other people don't. Greet the Crown Prince of Camelot properly, Your Grace Gwaine."

"You know who I am," said Arthur accusingly.

"Not when I ran into you," said Merlin. "No need to think I did it on purpose."

"Knowing these kinds of things is part of his job," said Gwaine dismissively. He bowed with exaggerated formality. "I am pleased to finally meet you, Prince Arthur."


	5. Chapter 5

Court in the Cavalcade was, unfortunately, as dry and tedious as Court in Camelot. Arthur found his gaze repeatedly drifting back to the Heir-of-House Green, who had staked out a vantage point near the middle of the Hall and looked determined to stay there. There were seats along the sides of the Inner Hall, but most couriers opted to circulate, or stand in groups to watch the floor. Gwaine made no effort to disguise his lack of interest in the proceedings, while up on the dais, Lord Green gave every impression of being unaware of his son's existence. A familiar, dark-haired figure stood immediately behind Gwaine, nudging him hard every now and again for an obligatory comment to a passing noble. 

Such leniency was unheard-of in Uther’s court. Arthur could not help but think of the way every eye seemed to rest on him, constantly, as the only child and heir to Camelot; the slightest hint of inattention would have merited a thorough questioning later.

There was, also, His Grace Gwaine's companion. Merlin. Arthur had initially assumed him to be one of the interchangeable House attendants, but his proximity and manner with Gwaine indicated trust and closeness between them, and an acknowledged position within House Green. The warmth in Gwaine’s expression when they conversed, their heads leaning together, the way Gwaine occasionally rested his hand in a possessive fashion on Merlin's elbow or lower back, all spoke plenty on the nature of their relationship, if one somehow missed the olive green cloth around Merlin's neck, complete with designs of House Green. Gwaine might as well have hung a sign of ownership.

Arthur had to look away and remind himself that the customs were different, here.

In Camelot, there would occasionally be a noble who was so taken with their bed-mate that they would walk with them around the Upper Town, but this was rare, certain to cause a scandal. They would never bring such a character before the Court, much less before Uther's eyes, without a proper courtship of appropriate length or, even better, a wedding in the works. 

The first time one of the nobles of the Cavalcade proudly introduced his companion of an evening as "one of the most renowned courtesans of exotic Ruska", Arthur’s drink had ended up in his nose. Fortunately, he'd been but one in a large group, in the middle of a fairly busy Grand Ball, and the effusive greetings from the other nobles had covered his reaction. 

That incident was years ago, now, and Arthur had thought himself quite immune to Cavalcade's... leniency. As such, he wasn't sure why he kept being distracted by His Grace Gwaine’s Merlin. 

Perhaps it was the way Merlin had addressed Arthur. He'd known who Arthur was, and had not seemed intimidated in the least; he’d never dropped his eyes. Of course, from the way Gwaine interacted with Merlin, it didn't surprise Arthur that Merlin would have no proper respect for rank, especially if Lord Green himself didn't correct such impudence.

Merlin seemed to sense that he was being observed, and cast his gaze over the front of the Hall. Arthur quickly shifted his attention to the petitioner currently holding the floor, then belatedly hoped that Merlin had not noticed the movement. Guilty reactions were just as telling as lies; better he had met Merlin’s gaze directly and acted as though he hadn’t done anything wrong. Which he hadn’t. He forced himself to not look up, to focus on the petitioner’s words.

Who, he discovered to his distaste, turned out to be yet _another_ proponent of the Old Religion. 

When Arthur next allowed his gaze to wander over the Inner Hall, Gwaine was speaking to another courtier, and Merlin was gone.

 

He noticed Elena flexing her fingers and shaking her hand. "Cold?" he asked. He could hear the other Knights bickering in the sitting room of his suite; it was always the same, whenever Arthur agreed to host a movie night, and he’d long learned that it was best just to leave them to work it out of their system while he gathered snacks from the kitchen.

"I'm fine," she answered quickly, setting her hand back on top of the counter.

"My Lady Knight," said Arthur sternly.

She sighed. "I'm warm enough, most of the time. It’s just – the tips of my fingers and toes get cold, all of a sudden, even when I put on extra layers.

"It is part of the adjustment," said Arthur. "You've been in space before, but not for this long. Your body is getting used to a lot of new things. Recycled atmosphere, the artificial gravity, the different levels of radiation. You feel it more on the first exposure, but you eventually get used to it." He frowned thoughtfully. "Keep track of the sensations, though. Some planetside folk have a higher likelihood of developing blood clots in artificial gravity. If you suspect something is wrong, go to the hospital."

She nodded absently. 

Arthur inwardly sighed. The only one of his Knights he could rely on to seek medical attention with any kind of promptness was Lancelot, who’d had to drag Arthur himself to a physician on several occasions. Arthur ought to be setting a better example, really.

He set the cooker to the microwave setting and tossed in a flat bag of uncooked popcorn. "How are you finding the Cavalcade, so far?"

She grinned. "Absolutely fantastic. It's... exactly how I pictured it, but also _more_. Does that make sense?" She seemed curious about the cooker embedded in the wall, so Arthur stepped aside and invited her to have a closer look.

"I'm glad," said Arthur, smiling. "I know you've been very excited about it."

"I read everything I could get my hands on," admitted Elena, peering through the glass window to watch the popcorn bag expand. "The Old Histories, the imported periodicals, Queen Ygraine’s accounts. I even borrowed Owen's conspiracy books about the Servants." She gave him a sly look. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, sire?"

Arthur pretended to think about it. "The crest of the Guild of Servants is on the Core's facade, so they are a legitimate guild."

"I bet you don't know a single member of it. And they're the only Guild whose House is not even physically in the Cavalcade. Or so they claim."

"I met Lord Fury, once," said Arthur.

"That's different - of course they would need a public representative," insisted Elena.

"From the amount of thought you've put into this, clearly I've been giving you lot too much free time," said Arthur, affecting a scowl even though he was, in fact, quite amused. He pressed a button on the counter-top closest to the dishwasher. The counter-top slid open; a multi-layered steel dish-tower rose up. Behind him, Elena swore quietly, clearly impressed; Arthur had to hide a smile. “Get a few of those big bowls, will you? Your brothers-in-arms can finish a dozen of these bags.”

 

Lancelot didn't look surprised to see Arthur up and about, despite the late hour. 

As in most space cities and fleets, the Cavalcade followed an artificial twenty-four hour 'day', and the level of lighting in all common areas and the availability of certain services changed accordingly. Furthermore, much of the public life in Cavalcade tended to revolve around the Great Markets; when the shops and stalls weren't open, the number of people walking about became noticeably fewer. That said, no ship of any significant size could afford to have its crew asleep all at once. The critical sections of the core and all vessels of significant size in the city would have crews on rotation, with the shift changes occurring at different times. Ideally, the shift schedules would be distributed so as to minimize the effects of fatigue, avoiding a situation where multiple crews would be tired at the end of their shift, but Arthur was not sure how well the Cavalcade kept to such regulations. 

The city had remained in place for hundreds of years, and nothing short of a full-scale armada could hope to make a dent on her shields systems.

"Spar?" Lancelot offered. 

Arthur smiled at his friend gratefully. "Please." This was hardly the first time they'd encountered one another on a sleepless night. Case in point: they were both already dressed for exercise.

He led the way to the public gym near the Market that his Knights favored. He rolled his shoulders as he walked, mind already on the workout ahead. The Market looked like a different place at night, quiet and dim, the semi-permanent stalls covered by colorful tarps.

The door to the gym slid open with a soft hiss before they got near enough for the sensors to detect them. Arthur absently looked up to nod politely at whoever must be coming out, and froze when he recognized the mop of dark curls, those ridiculous eyes. 

"Prince Arthur," said Merlin quietly. There was a faint flush to his pale skin. His exercise clothes were plain, black, made for ease of movement. He was still wearing that scarf around his neck.

Well, Arthur supposed that bed-boys needed regular exercise, too, to maintain their desired physical appearance and for the... effective execution of their duties. Traditionally, Arthur was not supposed to acknowledge the existence of such individuals - he could practically hear Uther howling about dignity and propriety - but something about Merlin made it nearly impossible for Arthur to ignore or overlook him.

“Merlin,” said Arthur. 

Their gazes met. Held. 

They might have stood there for untold minutes if not for a sudden, slight creaking sound from behind Arthur. It was Lancelot shifting his weight slightly, new shoes in need of breaking in, and it was as good as a polite cough from anybody else, because Lancelot could stand as still as a statue for hours on end - Arthur had seen him do it. Arthur's head snapped around to look at his friend. Lancelot was curious, at least, not condemning; he probably didn't know who Merlin was. And wouldn't care, if he did. 

"Lancelot, this is Merlin, of House Green," said Arthur. "Merlin, this is Sir Lancelot, one of my bravest Knights."

"Lord du Lac, I am honored," said Merlin, his hand making a graceful gesture that ended with his right hand held out in front of him, palm up, knuckles resting on the back of his left hand, which was closed in a loose fist.

Lancelot's eyebrows hopped upwards in surprise, though he normally looked uncomfortable at hearing someone use the title that Arthur had bestowed upon him. "Please to meet you, Merlin," he replied, smiling warmly. "How did you know?"

"My parents are of Ealdor," said Merlin. "You have the eyes and the hair, milord, and clearly the heart as well, from Prince Arthur's praise."

"It is in my Prince's nature to speak well of his men," said Lancelot demurely. "And please, call me Lancelot. Or else I will question the cloth around your neck, when you wear no other markings."

"I suppose it's fair, since you call me Merlin." Merlin seemed to pause, as if waiting. Lancelot gave him the slightest nod. Merlin looked back towards Arthur, inclining his head. "I will leave you to your exercise. Good-night Prince Arthur, Lancelot."

"Good-night," responded Arthur. He waited until he and Lancelot were inside the gym, mostly empty at this hour, before asking, "What was that about his scarf?"

Lancelot shrugged. "Ealdor comes from within the migration zone of Ancient Essetir. My ancestors are from the same region."

"Quite a bit of distance, between Ancient Essetir and Camelot," said Arthur. He realized that he didn't really know much about Lancelot's life before the man came to the Castle to become a Knight. Uther's low opinion of the common-born made Arthur reluctant to bring up any reminder. 

"As I understand it, there was a sizable population in Cavalcade, possibly fleeing the same war everyone else was. Nearly all of them pledged Pendragon during the Separation, and followed your ancestors to Camelot." 

Arthur gaped. He was prepared to find himself ignorant of many subjects, but as representative of Camelot, it was his duty to be the most knowledgeable about his people; he felt at once appalled and embarrassed to find the gap in his education. And a very obvious one, had he given it a moment of critical thought: no single House or Guild could be large enough to populate an entire city, let alone a damn _continent_. "The history texts don't mention any of this."

"Not the standard ones, no. But such is the case everywhere." Lancelot shrugged. "One justification I've seen is that the Dragon's Oath subsumes all previous affiliations. So, legally, it _is_ true that only House Pendragon went to Camelot."

"What matter such politics," Arthur waved his hand dismissively, "to the way people live? You brought your history and traditions and bloodlines." And Arthur had known nothing of it.

Lancelot raised his eyebrow. "I do not know how much of it would be recognizable; we are Camelot now, through and through. But the neck-cloth, at least, is definitely from Essetir. It is meant to signal that the wearer has been entrusted with a sacred duty. A servant to a higher cause. It's... usually worn by very specific professions."

"Ah," said Arthur. That was clear enough. "I understand." Not so different, then, from its symbolic function in the Castle and the environs.

Lancelot blinked and gave him a doubtful look, but he seemed reluctant to elaborate on the matter further. He accepted Arthur's word, in any case, and walked over to wear the sparring mats were. "Sword or staff?"

 

Compared to the sleek, minimal flight-suits worn by the other pilots, Camelot's regular battle armor looked like an unwieldy, impractical monstrosity from a different era.

Gwaine, to his credit, only nodded in greeting when he saw them noisily pile onto the flight deck, the last of the patrol formations to do so. But a rash of incredulous whispering burst out amongst the newer pilots, including a few stifled laughs. 

None of the Knights said a word as they took their usual places on either side of Arthur. Each formation stood in one line, a sharp arrowhead with the leader in the center; as the suits of each formation had a distinctive design, the deployment bay looked like it had been lined with multi-colored chevrons. 

Arthur waited patiently, doing his best impersonation of one of the stone statues that guarded the hills around the Castle back home. The Guard-captain assigned each formation their patrol area and dismissed them.

"This quadrant's clean," reported Elena, an hour later. "And all the buoys are accounted for."

"Nothing here either," said Elyan, "I thought I saw a blip earlier but it was probably just- oh, it's back. Excalibur, I have something. And it's definitely not a buoy. I think it's trying to stay out of scanner range, clearly doesn't know about our signal amplifiers. Orders?"

"Do not engage," said Arthur sternly. "Knights, form up around Lamia."

Arthur occasionally caught a glimpse of the other ships, but this far from any significant light source - the diffuse glow from the Dragon was no match for a good old-fashioned _sun_ \- visibility was abysmally low, and he mainly kept track of his formation via the nav projection presently filling up Excalibur’s bridge. 

He guided Excalibur to a spot behind Elyan’s ship; on the nav, the dot labeled ‘CAM Lamia’ hovered a foot in front of the pilot-chair. 

“Lion, take a quick run,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “Take the long way ‘round.”

“Aye, sire.” The ‘CAM Lion dot peeled away from the formation, shading brighter as it gained speed, taking a wide arc that would send it past the maybe-raider.

Pixie immediately slid into the space below Lamia which Lion had just vacated, without needing to be prompted. This was one aspect of Elena’s shiny new Knighthood that Arthur had never had a worry about.

Arthur opened a secure channel to the communications tower. "CAV, this is Excalibur of Camelot, we have a possible raider sighting in," the comp window containing their navigation info zoomed to a stop in front of him, and Arthur dutifully read out their coordinates, "we're going in to investigate."

This was one advantage of being a temporary adjunct: they didn’t have to follow the Cavalcade Guards’ command structure. Critical or problematic decisions might be forwarded to Command but generally Arthur was free to use his own judgment. The comms officer didn't even hesitate before saying, "Acknowledged. Camelot flight leader may use their discretion. Proceed with caution, Excalibur."

Arthur let out a breath. There’d been the possibility that it was simply a private vessel out to have a closer look at the Dragon; remote, but Arthur had seen tourists fly right into the thick of the nebula. Engine failure usually occurred around half an astronomical unit from the Buoy Boundary. If the buoys scattered around the periphery of the Dragon detected such ships and broadcasted a distress call, a rescue ship from Cavalcade might have a slim chance of extracting the dead ship via liberal use of grappling hooks before the foolhardy occupants died. Most of the time, however, both ship and passengers were lost to the Dragon.

In any case, if the unidentified ship had been a vessel authorized to be out in open space, the comm tower would have informed them. The fact that they hadn’t meant that the ship was almost certainly one of Cenred's raiders.

“Camelot, this is Lion,” said Leon, “I am almost to the blip.”

Arthur watched the red-gold dot approach the grey ‘UNKNOWN’ dot, zooming in and adjusting the scale of the projection as the distance between the two ships steadily decreased. The dots became rough representations of ships – or, at least, Lion did, since it was a ship recognized by Excalibur; the blip remained a grey sphere.

Five hundred miles. Four hundred miles.

Suddenly, the red-and-gold ship blinked out. Arthur was sure, for a bright, sharp second, that Lion had gone dark.

“Lion!”

But no, the ship was still there – it had simply darkened to such a degree that it was hard to see. Which indicated an abrupt decrease in speed. 

“Still here,” said Leon, voice tense. “I’m not sure what happened. The engines just. Stopped.”

“The blip is escaping,” reported Lancelot.

“My engines will need a few more seconds to return to full power,” said Leon, “but I kept on travelling – so I’m pretty sure I didn’t hit anything – I should be able to go after it.”

Arthur didn’t even think about it. “Do not pursue, Lion. Will you be able to return to us?”

“Aye, sire. The ship seems to be fine, none of the systems are reporting any damage or faults.”

“Let’s not take risks. Take a full scan of the area, in case you hit some sort of mine. Griffin and Dorocha, go over to Lion to cover his return, take your own scans once you’re in position. Everyone else, bring your scanners up to full power, I don’t want any raiders sneaking up on us.”

The chorus of “Yes, Arthur!” eased some of the tension in his body. His Knights knew what they were about; his people were the very best. 

He turned his mic off for a moment. “What do you think it could have been?”

“A mine is the most likely culprit, as you have surmised,” said Excalibur. “However, Sir Leon is the most experienced of your Knights, and would have recognized the impact of a mine against his ship.”

“I know you would have told me if you’d picked up anything in the area, but can you run a full scan again? Throw everything we’ve got, as far out as we can reach.”

A few seconds passed, during which the soft humming from the central comp core beneath the pilot chair grew fractionally louder, then quieted again. 

“No anomalous readings detected,” reported Excalibur.

“Damn. I was almost hoping we’d just gotten clumsy and missed something.”

A pause. “Spaceside scanners are only as effective as their programming, due to the overabundance of noise and the unpredictable variations even within expected data sets. It is entirely possible that the technology used against Sir Leon’s ship is one we do not know how to scan for.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” muttered Arthur.

 

Annis, of course, insisted that Cenred did not have nearly the same level of technology as the Cavalcade, which was what the Camelot ships were equipped with. “Is it not possible that your Knight’s ship simply malfunctioned?”

 _No,_ Arthur wanted to insist. Not without any warning signs beforehand; not without leaving a trace; not _Lion_ , a ship tended with more care than even Excalibur, because Leon had inherited his ship from his father. 

But that would only reinforce Annis’ point; old things tended to break more easily, after all.

They ate in silence for the rest of the main course. Arthur resolved to ponder the issue on his own for now. Then he remembered that there was something else he’d been meaning to ask the Queen.

"I was wondering," Arthur hesitated. But, having already begun, it seemed cowardly to leave the question unasked, or to divert to a more innocuous inquiry. "If you knew anything about the boy named Merlin? The one who always accompanies Gwaine, His Grace of House Green-"

"I know who Merlin is," said Annis. She looked intently at him, and then something knowing came to her eyes. " I'm not sure you should be going around calling him 'boy'. He's nearly the same age as you are, you know, though I can see why you'd assume him younger." Arthur considered explaining that, in Camelot, 'boy' or 'girl' was always the term used, which was at least more polite than 'catamite', but the Queen was already forging on. "Merlin's a good lad. Always polite. Kind even to those as don't deserve it. He and Gwaine have been inseparable since he was assigned to House Green - I hear he was handpicked by the Lord of the Green himself."

Arthur could feel heat racing over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. The thought of his father picking someone for him to bed - he fought to keep his expression neutral before he ended up grimacing at Queen Annis. It was already too late to stop his blush.

Annis looked thoroughly amused now. "Merlin was trained by the very best, of course. I'm told he possesses a most impressive set of skills. Gwaine is very proud of him. I'm sure His Grace will be happy to expound in more detail about Merlin's qualities-"

"I'm sure," said Arthur. Squeaked, more like. "Thank you, Queen Annis. I was merely curious - I appreciate your indulgence."

"Of course." Her smile was only a touch wider than the polite one she showed in public, but it was enough – Arthur knew she was laughing at him. 

 

Elena’s voice was nearly a shout over the comms. "Excalibur, you've got one on your tail."

"I see it," replied Arthur shortly. He twisted Excalibur into a roll and then immediately spun a backwards loop, hoping to put the raider ship in front of him, but the other pilot had quick reflexes. Something exploded right behind his left wing; his shields held off the worst of the debris and the heat, but the force of it knocked off his balance and had his ship spinning for a few precious seconds until Excalibur's calculations got the thrusters compensating. 

"Priority Green is unattended," said Excalibur suddenly.

Arthur, on instinct, swerved his ship sharply starboard, and a small silvery object that the raider must have shot at him went flying past. His hands manipulated the arm-units, pressing and pulling and sliding controls, in movements that felt more natural than breathing; which was fortunate, as his attention now had to be split between keeping his ship alive and keeping track of the skirmish via the navigational displays.

It took him a moment to register what Excalibur had said, and another moment to see for himself: the dot labeled 'CAV 16-5 Gwaine' was flying alone. None of the raiders seemed to have noticed, yet, but it was only a matter of time. Where was the rest of the Guards’ Squadron Sixteen?

No matter - Arthur angled his ship towards Gwaine's, narrowly avoiding a collision with the Lamia; Elyan was in hot pursuit of a stuttering, thoroughly charred raider. The course adjustment meant that Excalibur was already en route when a raider ship appeared out of nowhere and opened fire on Gwaine's flank.

It was only an energy beam; Gwaine's shields should have had no trouble blocking and dispersing it. Cavalcade shielding technology was second to none. Arthur had once watched a prototype shield crumple the hull of a fighter ship attempting to fly straight through the barrier.

But the bright red beam of light sliced through the side of Gwaine's ship like a knife across paper. The tail section and most of the wings tore away.

"Excalibur!" shouted Arthur. He wasn't sure why, didn't know what he expected his ship's computer to do about an enemy that could suddenly _shoot through shields_.

"Catastrophic hull breach, life support systems failing," reported Excalibur. "His Grace is still in the pilot-chair."

"Prepare a rescue line. Open a channel to him," ordered Arthur. He shifted his ship's course to run a close pass of Gwaine's ship. When the comm button flashed green, Arthur didn't wait for Gwaine to acknowledge him, simply shouted, "I'm five seconds away from you. Eject. EJECT!"

For three of those seconds, nothing happened. Arthur didn't let himself think about Gwaine ignoring him, about the raider ship that had inflicted such unexpected damage and might now be turning its weapons on Arthur. He passed the ripped-off portion of Gwaine's ship, now just another piece of free-floating debris. The only visible damage was around the sliced edges, the shipsteel melted and twisted; the olive tree on the tail end looked, absurdly, as polished as it had in the hangar bay before the flight.

Arthur reached the front half of Gwaine's ship, heart pounding, passing close enough that the light of Excalibur's engines gleamed off the bisected wings. 

The hull above the bridge cracked open, and something shot up out of it.

"Now!"

Half a dozen ropes flew out of the modified missile launcher mounted above Excalibur's main body. The ropes' magnetized tips repelled each other and caused each rope to spread apart, seeking, until finally two of them caught onto the hot shipsteel of Gwaine's pilot-chair and attached themselves to it. Arthur confirmed the catch with a shaky sigh of relief. Now on 'retrieve' mode, the other ropes curled around the ones that held Gwaine, more tips sticking themselves to the chair to secure their hold. The chair was swiftly pulled into the port airlock.

Arthur had barely closed the door when Excalibur was rocked by another close explosion. 

"I'm pretty sure I told you that you had one on your tail," said Elena, far too cheerfully.

"I've been a little busy," gritted Arthur.

"Multi-tasking is not his strong suit," said Elyan. 

"Did you just attempt a rescue while under fire?" said Leon, somehow managing to sound perfectly respectful and yet _deeply disappointed_ in Arthur.

The chatter indicated that the rest of Arthur's motley crew were no longer occupied with the raiders. Indeed, after a few seconds, Lion and Dorocha swooped down in front of Excalibur and flew past, going in the opposite direction. A flash of light, a rumble of explosions, and the purple dot that had been chasing Excalibur disappeared off the nav projection. 

Arthur examined the rest of the area map. It seemed as if all the raiders had either been destroyed or chased off.

"Did anyone get the ship that took Gwa- His Grace's ship down?" asked Arthur.

There was a pause. "I saw it happen," said Lancelot, "but the raider disappeared before I got a good look at it."

A chorus of agreements. "I'm pretty sure it was one of the ones that ran away," added Percival.

"Hard to tell, since they all look alike," said Elyan.

"Permission to enter the bridge?" It took Arthur a moment to realize that the voice had come from behind him.

Arthur spun his chair around. He'd forgotten he'd acquired a passenger. "Of course, Your Grace."

Gwaine flinched. "Please, just Gwaine. Especially out here." He limped into the bridge and took the spare seat folded up against the bulkhead behind the pilot-chair. 

"Are you injured?" frowned Arthur.

"No, just feeling a bit sick from the decompression," said Gwaine, waving his hand dismissively. "Turns out going into vacuum in only a flightsuit is bad for you."

"There are hygiene bags under the chair, if you are going to be ill," said Arthur.

Gwaine blinked at him. "Wait. Seriously?"

Arthur remembered the last time he'd been a passenger in a Cavalcade ship. It had been for a tour of the buoys that Annis had made him go on. An attendant had shown him how to use the flimsy little face masks, not unlike the kind for administering emergency oxygen, attached to vacuum tubes. As if there was a way to make vomiting look dignified. Excalibur didn't have the resources to spare for such a system.

Something of Arthur's thoughts must have shown on his face, because Gwaine quickly held up his hands. "I don't mean anything bad by it! I was just... surprised."

An urgent comm from Cavalcade drew Arthur's attention back to the multitude of comp windows floating around the bridge. He spun his chair to face forward again, ignoring the sounds of Gwaine investigating the chairs and side-panels. He switched his comm system to deliver audio to his earpiece only, and toggled the button to accept the comm.

"Camelot. Excalibur." Arthur recognized the voice as that of the comm officer on his arrival. Mordred. "We have received the casualty report of your skirmish from Squadron Sixteen." Arthur blinked - that was fast. 

"You even have _life vests_!" marveled Gwaine somewhere behind him.

"A request has come down from Lord Green," continued Mordred, "asking you to confirm that _Sixteen-Five_ was destroyed." That had been the call sign on Gwaine’s ship.

Arthur fought the urge to curse. "Mordred, could you patch me through to Lord Green?" 

A pause. "Directly?" Mordred sounded uncertain. "Um. It's not something that’s usually done, but I have the rank to send a request. Give me a moment.”

While Arthur waited, he heard Gwaine slowly approaching the pilot-chair. He twisted his neck around to look up at Gwaine, but couldn't read the other man's face.

"Prince Arthur?" 

Arthur switched his comm system back to the bridge's audio channel. "Lord Green," he said, still looking at Gwaine. "His Grace Gwaine is with me on Excalibur, safe and unharmed. I'm afraid I can't say the same for Squadron Sixteen-Five, which is presently floating in two very large pieces in the vicinity of Buoy Peter."

"Sorry, sir," said Gwaine, his expression unreadable. "The shields must have malfunctioned."

There was an audible exhalation on the other end. "I see." There was a murmur of voices, nothing distinct enough for Arthur to identify; instinct, however, conjured up dark hair and sharp blue eyes. "Prince Arthur, you have my gratitude for your assistance."

"I was merely in the right place at the right time, my Lord," demurred Arthur. 

"Nevertheless. We will speak later."

The comm line was cut. Arthur stared at the star-speckled darkness on the other side of the window. His mind tried to juggle several sets of thoughts, even as he gave formation orders to the Camelot ships and tried to sort out who was in charge of Squadron Sixteen. Somewhere behind him, Gwaine settled back into a chair and strapped himself in.

"Your brother's ship experienced a malfunction as well," said Arthur.

"That's what they told me.”

Arthur paused. "Your shields did not malfunction."

"They deactivated in the middle of a fight. I did not deactivate them. Therefore, they must have malfunctioned." Gwaine sounded strangely tired.

The Guard Captain who'd been in charge of Squadron Sixteen had been killed when his ship rammed into one of the raiders. Leadership now fell to a Lieutenant whose name Arthur forgot a second after he was told it, because Arthur was too busy processing the conversations, the likelihood of such convenient 'malfunctions'. If Arthur neglected to inform the Lieutenant that His Grace Gwaine had not perished with his ship – what remained of Sixteen would see the truth for themselves once they docked, and in the meantime, there was half a light-year between their current location and Cavalcade - Arthur would blame his preoccupation as well. 

"Thank you, by the way," said Gwaine, once Arthur finished conferring with the Lieutenant and had set the course for Cavalcade. "Don't think I didn't notice you keeping yourself in _the right place_ for when _the right time_ came."

Out here, it was far too easy to forget; Arthur suddenly felt the grasping fingers of Cavalcade's convoluted politics as if they were particles in the recycled air, dug into his thoughts, in the communication lines, in his orders, infiltrating even his beloved ship and the familiar satisfaction of a worthy battle. 

"You threw yourself out into dead space because I told you to," said Arthur, more candidly than he might have if they weren't, in that moment, just two warriors inside a ship’s bridge, isolated by shipsteel and the vacuum of space.

Gwaine grinned, bright and rakish and maybe a little bit brittle. "And you caught me.”


	6. Chapter 6

"How's Pixie?" asked Arthur, stopping in front of the ship. He followed the formation-list for his post-flight check-ins; all the other Knights had already given their report.

And if he found himself repeatedly glancing to where the remains of Squadron Sixteen were having a very disorganized sort of debrief - well, it was natural for him to check on Gwaine, after having gone through so much trouble to deliver him home. It certainly had nothing to do with the dark-haired figure who'd marched out the moment the big hangar doors sealed shut. Who was presently listening to Gwaine and casting a sharp, unreadable look towards the Camelot ships, now docked in two neat lines near the sealed hangar door.

Elena looked up from where she was hanging off a ladder to examine the starboard wing. Arthur quickly trained his gaze on hers, glad at the excuse. "A bit more dinged up than I thought," said Elena, patting her ship fondly, "but it's all superficial. I'll run a diagnostic afterwards, though, just in case."

Arthur nodded. All the Knights had been extra careful since the incident with Lion’s engines. "You flew well today."

"Thank you, my Lord,” she said, beaming. “Nothing compared to that stunt you pulled, though - don't think I've ever seen a catch like that."

"Weren't you there when Galahad got snatched up by that wyvern last spring? Lancelot caught him _and_ avoided killing the wyvern." asked Arthur.

"Well, yes, but on-planet is _different_ ," insisted Elena. "There's only one direction falling bodies can go, 'cause of gravity. And there wasn't a big ship with a ship-killing laser lurking nearby."

"Fine, fine, it _was_ a good catch," admitted Arthur, "but it took just as much luck as skill, don't forget that. And a great deal of bravery, for His Grace Gwaine - not everybody would have willingly ejected into hard vacuum wearing only a flight suit and an emergency helmet, at the word of a foreigner whom they'd barely met."

"I would," said Elena, "if I knew it was you coming to rescue me."

From anyone else, such a statement would have made Arthur uncomfortable. But Elena had always had a way of making bald claims sound sincere and matter-of-fact. Plus, she was one of his Knights; she was not an admirer seeking to flatter him, but a fellow warrior affirming her trust and loyalty to her battle-leader.

“Thank you,” said Arthur sincerely. 

 

A great roaring sound poured into Arthur’s ears the moment he stepped into the outer building of the Races. He tensed, eyes immediately scanning for a threat. A lifetime in Camelot had ingrained many instincts which he knew better than to shake off, especially for a mere few weeks off-world each year; the voluminous and many-layered garments favored by tonight's crowd, for example, looked like the great swarms of Flutter-Flies in the high summer, which the children of Gedref called Ribbons-of-Death.

It was Leon who cleared his throat and casually noted, “Cavalcade’s shield technology is truly a marvel. I’ve not encountered such an effective sound block before.”

Ah, of course. The racing stadium had been a tanker, once, and while it’d been a single, isolated ship, the vacuum of space did the job of containing the inevitable noise that came with the sport. But over the years many of the wealthier private vessels had anchored themselves onto the larger commercial ships, and the larger ships created permanent linkages to one another, merging their air containment fields. Sharing air, however, meant that places such as the Races had to install sound-shields to spare the residential ships dotting the outer structure.

Reluctant as Arthur was to admit it, Leon had a point - Arthur had never encountered so effective a shield before, where he’d only heard a soft, almost soothing hum when they were on the winding walkway leading from Outer Market to the Races, and barely felt a vibration on the floor. But the moment he’d stepped over the invisible threshold of the sound blocks, the rumble and roar of engines hit him at full blast; he could scarcely imagine it being any louder if he’d stood in the middle of the Grand Course.

They were led to the Royal Box, where seats had been reserved for them. Arthur was somehow not surprised to see Gwaine and his usual dark-haired shadow there as well.

There were three minor races before the main event. Arthur was more interested in watching the individual ships perform than in the outcome of the races; spending only a short time each year with access to off-world news meant that he often missed the release of new models. Nevertheless, he found himself getting carried along on the enthusiasm of the crowd, clapping loudly at the end of each match. Elena and Percival, who had no dignity to maintain, cheered and waved themselves to exhaustion. By the time the main event began – a respectable assortment of ships, though the favorites were the Lancer and a Morningstar – Arthur suggested that they fetch some food and drink from concessions, and they stumbled away gratefully.

The crowd quieted when the large screen counted down the start of the race. A great surge of noise that reminded Arthur of the storms over the Mara sea – and then the ships were roaring off down the Course, swerving like dancers as they evaded the various obstacles. The crowd shouted and shrieked and pounded the floor. 

A few times, Arthur thought he could feel eyes on him, but when he glanced up, all the faces around him were turned towards the race. He did not allow himself more than a fleeting look at the seats reserved for House Green.

Two circuits later, on the last stretch, the ships were close, the tip of the red Lancer mere inches behind the black Morningstar. A breathless tension fell over the stadium. But Arthur had kept track of the Lancer 's movements through the rounds. The red ship had started out firmly in the middle of the pack, and patiently overtook each ship ahead of it by gradual increments. This was the first time he'd seen a Lancer in action, but Arthur excelled at reading pilots. Instinct and experience told him that the pilot of the Lancer was saving up for a final burst of speed, likely at the last possible minute.

Confident in his prediction, Arthur made the habitual visual check on his surroundings. Every eye was fixed on the two specks speeding down the final turn. From the number of Bet-Makers strolling up and down the aisles in their discreet grey-and-white tunics, there was a lot of money in play tonight. 

Arthur's eyes drifted, as they’d been wont to do, to the other side of the Box. He was not as surprised as he should be to find another person not paying attention to the course; familiar blue eyes stared back at him. Arthur couldn't read the expression on Merlin's face. Curiosity, perhaps. 

It happened in a matter of moments; Arthur doubted he managed to take a full breath from the start to the end of it.

He registered the flash of movement. Then Merlin's chair no longer had Merlin in it, and all of a sudden Merlin was standing on the chair in front of Gwaine's - an empty row, Arthur remembered. The rest of the occupants of the Box were too focused on the Race to notice anything happening around them. Arthur’s gaze fell on a small egg-shaped object in Merlin's hand. A light at the tip was blinking, with increasing frequency.

Merlin held it for a second, then two, as if content to watch the light go on and off. Arthur's heart was already pounding in alarm before full realization reached the rest of him. He stood up, even though he didn't know what he could do, and the thought sparked, syrupy-slow, _he doesn't know what it is_ , and then Merlin's head snapped up. Merlin flung the object with surprising force, sending it sailing high over the stands. Towards the Course.

And then - Arthur's eyes could barely track him, but it looked like Merlin jumped and _flew_ through the air, somersaulting over the heads of the other people in the Box, and Arthur frowned because it seemed as if Merlin was heading for _him_ -

A loud explosion went off over the Course, scant meters above the handful of ships drifting dejectedly towards the finish line. There was more applause, absurdly, from some parts of the stands on the upper level, but there were also screams, likely from the cheaper seats close enough to the Course to feel the heat of the blast. 

Arthur's attention, however, was on the object flying towards him. _Knife!_ A part of his mind only had time to think, _too late, too fast_ \- and then there was a tall figure standing in front of him, close enough that Arthur found himself staring at a strip of bare neck, almost unnaturally pale between the dark hair and olive cloth. 

Something unintelligible spilled from his mouth. Arthur stumbled forwards, hands flying up to clutch at Merlin's sides. His heart thumped faster than it had for the grenade, and he peered over Merlin's shoulder, braced for the sight of rent skin and spilling blood.

Merlin's palms were pressed together, the blade of the knife trapped between them. The very tip of the knife was, absurdly, stuck to a thread of Merlin's ever-present neck-scarf.

Merlin had caught the knife. _With his bare hands_.

It didn't escape Arthur's notice that Merlin had also shielded Arthur with his own body.

Naturally, the first thing out of Arthur's mouth was, "What do you think you're doing? You could have been killed!"

Merlin blinked at him, clearly surprised, and then gave him an unimpressed look. "And you were _about to be_ ," he pointed out, as if that settled the matter.

That was when the Races' security detail descended on them, followed closely by a mix of Knights and Guards - the familiar red of Camelot and the olive of House Green.

 

Later that night, Arthur woke up abruptly from sleep. He had to wonder at the newest development of his brain's sadistic streak; his mind was clearly still dwelling upon the incident at the Races, which was not unexpected, but for some reason, he kept dreaming that he'd seen the knife _slowing down_ as it had spun, blade over handle, towards him.

 

“Prince Arthur.”

Having stood up the moment Annis signaled the end of Chamber-At-The-Close, Arthur ended up banging his hip painfully against the hard table when he instinctively turned to face the direction his name had been called. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised; he’d been expecting Lord Green to speak to him ever since the skirmish with the raiders.

“My Lord Green,” said Arthur, inclining his head.

“I will not take much of your time,” said Green gravely. “I merely wished to express my personal thanks for saving my son’s life.”

Arthur would have stammered, but for the look he could imagine on his father’s face if Uther ever heard about him doing so. “You’re welcome, my Lord, though I am only pleased to have been able to do so.” He took a breath. “His Grace Gwaine is very brave.”

“Among other things,” said Green, in a voice Arthur could not read.

“I would also like to convey my gratitude to His Grace’s companion, Merlin, who saved my own life yesterday.”

Green made a thoughtful noise. “You may find him in the flagship of my House. You and your Knights are welcome to our hospitality whenever you desire it.”

This time, Arthur bowed properly. “You are generous, my Lord.”

Deep-set eyes regarded him intently for a long moment. “I can see why Herself is so taken with you.” As if satisfied to leave on such an ambiguous note, Lord Green walked sedately away.

Arthur could recall stepping into the territory of House Green only twice before, both times to accompany his father on a formal House event. But Merlin had saved his life, and courtesy, not to mention his own honor, demanded that he at least thanked the man for it in person.

He took a shuttle from the Core, squeezing into the tiny space with Leon, and was granted access to House Green’s flagship immediately. An attendant welcomed him and ushered him towards a lavish sitting room. Leon parked himself in the hallway just inside the airlock they’d entered through. The Knights were usually more diligent than usual about shadowing him when they were in unfamiliar locations, so Arthur was a bit surprised, but shrugged and continued after the attendant. 

A few minutes of waiting, and one of the doors slid open to admit Merlin.

“Prince Arthur,” Merlin greeted him. 

“Merlin.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I, ah. That is.” He took a deep breath. “It was remarkable, what you did at the Races, I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it. I am very appreciative, nevertheless, though I may not have sounded so at the time.”

Blue eyes stared brightly at him.

"If there is some boon you would ask of me, or of Camelot,” continued Arthur, “I would do my utmost to grant it."

Merlin blinked up at him. "You know, a simple 'thank you' would have been enough."

Arthur gritted his teeth. When he realized that Merlin wasn't going to say anything else, and seemed to be waiting, he sighed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

That should have been the end of it, but Arthur couldn't help asking, "How did you do- what you did?"

Not his most eloquent moment, he had to admit. Merlin clearly thought the same, if his amused grin was any indication. "You really don't know what I am, do you?"

Arthur felt his face warming. "You are His Grace Gwaine's… companion."

Merlin stood. A subtle change came over his expression, his posture; Arthur felt himself taking a step back, though he couldn't explain why. Some deep animal instinct, he thought distantly, that recognized when a predator was nearby. 

Each step soft, nearly silent but for the hiss of carpet, Merlin _stalked_ towards Arthur. Every movement seemed to invite Arthur to look at his body, to drink in the lean features and tempting lines. Arthur kept his eyes fixed firmly on Merlin's face, and tried to ignore the sense of slowly drowning. 

"And what does that mean to you?" murmured Merlin, voice low and much too close. "It is true, I suppose: I do keep him company, day and night. I have a number of very specialized skills.” 

Arthur swallowed; his eyes kept drifting down to Merlin’s mouth. “I can’t tell if you’re propositioning me or threatening me.”

There was the slightest hesitation. Some of the intensity - or perhaps it was artifice, Arthur couldn’t tell - seeped out from Merlin. “I forget, at times, that you are not from Cavalcade.”

“I suppose I shall take that as a compliment,” said Arthur. “As I am never not aware of it.”

Merlin held his gaze for another second, and then his face seemed to relax into its usual lines. “While I will not deny that Gwaine and I have kept each other company in such a manner in the past, it had no part in the terms of my employment. Gwaine doesn’t exactly need to _pay_ anybody for that sort of thing.”

Fair point. Arthur was just knew that Merlin was laughing at him. “It’s your neck-cloth. In my country, such accessories amongst the nobility and their attendants signify, ah, something akin to ownership.”

“Is that so?” Merlin appeared intrigued. He tugged at the olive-colored cloth thoughtfully. “So, if I were to wear Pendragon red…” The very thought made Arthur jerk; he couldn’t have hidden the reaction if he tried, not with Merlin so close. The intensity was back, pinning Arthur where he stood. By all rights, Arthur held the physical advantage over Merlin, yet he had the vague thought that he should have made a run for it while he could.

The first touch was a shock. It was a tiny point of contact, only Merlin’s fingers resting on the inside of Arthur’s wrist, but it sent a searing heat through Arthur’s body that he was woefully unable to handle. 

“I have felt your eyes on me, you know,” said Merlin. His voice dropped to a whisper; their faces were close enough that the words were clear even through the pounding in Arthur’s ears. “What do you think about, when you look my way?"

Arthur sucked in a somewhat strangled breath. “I don’t- But what about-” He didn’t know, exactly, what to ask. His brain, normally quite reliable, was fixated on Merlin’s touch and voice and _heat_.

Fortunately, Merlin seemed to find it amusing. “Gwaine and I have been together for a long time, but we both know that our love is that of close friends.” He leaned in and trailed breath over the side of Arthur’s face, sending the skin there prickling, following the line of the jaw to Arthur’s ear. His next words seemed aimed at himself. “What is it about you, Arthur Pendragon?”

Arthur found himself standing up, abrupt enough that Merlin stumbled back. His heart was racing. He’d charged a nest of wyverns with nary but a stick and he’d felt less rattled than this, less on the edge of drowning. Merlin’s face was a mix of confusion and wariness, and a ridiculous, appalling part of Arthur couldn’t help but find it _adorable_.

“Thank you for your time,” said Arthur. He was momentarily impressed with himself for sounding coherent. “Please give Gwaine my regards.”

He wasn’t sure how he got back to the Royal Quarters, only registered the door of his suite closing behind him and the coolness of the wall pressed against his face. After several minutes, he marched into his bathroom, and turned the shower down as cold as it would go.

 

_Thack. Thack._

Arthur stepped back to avoid the tip of Elena's practice sword, then swung his own sword in a diagonal cut that would hit her shoulder. She brought her sword up with admirable speed and blocked him; shifted her grip and stepped to the side, tried to stab him in the ribs. He knocked her sword aside, managed to grab her arm. She sensed him bracing to kick her legs out from under her, and threw herself into a dive.

He had the choice of letting her go or following her to the ground. He released her arm. She was slow in getting back up, clearly tiring; by the time she looked up, half-crouched, he had his sword at her throat.

Slow claps from the other Knights. He offered her a hand, which she accepted, and pulled her to her feet. They were both dripping sweat onto the mat, which hadn't been entirely sanitary to begin with. Located by the Markets, this gym was a far cry from the facilities in the Royal Quarters. Arthur preferred to hold the Knights' training here, away from the Core's aggressive cleanliness.

"Not bad," he said. "You held out longer than Leon. Your reflexes are getting faster." He took a bottle of water from Elyan, briefly considered pouring it over his head. "You need to pay more attention to how tired you are. You're not just a Guard anymore, Elena – you're a Knight. It's no longer just about the fight. You have to be aware of the _battle_. Just like when you're in Pixie."

"Hey, if you're done playing with your _sticks_ , get off the damn mats," shouted a gruff voice.

Arthur spun around. "Excuse me?"

A sandy-haired, heavily-muscled man smirked at Arthur, crossing his arms. His biceps looked bigger than Arthur's head. "I said, get off the sparring mats. Be glad the cleaning 'bot is right there, else I'd have made you disinfect the mats yourself." He grinned at the woman standing next to him, who laughed airily and leaned into him. She apparently had a great deal of appreciation for the size of his arms. "Who knows where these planet types have been, eh?"

Their training session was technically done, but some things could not be borne. "Actually, I'm afraid we're not quite finished yet," said Arthur. "You're going to have to come back later."

"Bullshit," growled the man. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but my father is a High Merchant here. You should show some respect. Pick up your crap and go away, though your bitch can stay if she wants to see what a real man can do." He leered at Elena.

"Hey, I've taken down bigger guys than you," she hissed.

"It's true," said Elyan, "Seen it myself, it was awesome." He was rolling his shoulders – a warning sign that Arthur had long learned to recognize.

"Stand down," ordered Arthur. "Sir, we’re not here the fight you. But I won’t have you disrespecting my people.”

“Like you and your inbred arses are even worth the breath for spittin’ on you.” And Arthur would have been happy to leave it at that, to turn his back on the vitriol pouring out of the man’s mouth – hardly anything he hadn’t heard before – except his ears picked up the muttered, “Check this out.” He was stepping to the side even as he turned, and so the man’s fist only glanced past his shoulder. He chose a hard kick, knee to sternum, as a suitable counterargument.

A short while later, a voice said drily, "Forty-eight seconds, and he's twice your size,” cutting through the man’s groans on the mat. “Very impressive.”

Arthur spun around, body instinctively bracing for another attack before his brain could catch up. "Your Grace," he said, nodding politely.

"Gwaine, please." Gwaine raised an eyebrow. "Or I'll start calling you my Lord Prince Arthur. In a very loud voice."

Arthur winced. "Fine. _Gwaine_." The informality seemed to suit Gwaine better, in any case. "I guess there's no point asking why you're here, too, instead of the gym in the Core."

"Personally I find the noise blocks, blindingly white walls, and perpetually helpful ‘bots more than a little creepy.” Gwaine’s smile was calculating. “Your Knights are very good.”

“I train only the best,” said Arthur.

Several seconds passed. Arthur kept his body loose, his stance open; held Gwaine’s gaze without expectation or uncertainty. Not unlike encountering a blood-hog; fleeing or fighting would only spur the creature to attack, but allow it to come close, to determine that one was neither prey nor predator, then it would simply slink away.

“I might trouble you for a lesson or two, then, sometime,” said Gwaine, finally.

Annis might have nudged him to it, but Arthur thought he would have been intrigued by Gwaine regardless. “If you think you can hold your own.”

A dark hand clapped Gwaine on the shoulder. “Excellent,” said Elyan. “Then we must visit upon you a great custom of our people, which traditionally takes place after a worthy match.”

Gwaine’s expression shifted to one of genuine amusement. Watching him and Elyan grinning at each other, Arthur had a sudden premonition about the level of havoc the two could wreak by establishing an alliance. “And what, good Knight, does this noble custom entail?”

“We make it up as we go along. The most important part is the location. Lads – and one lass - to the tavern!”

 

Merlin was waiting for them when they left the gym. Arthur half-expected him to glower in disapproval and haul Gwaine off to do more House-appropriate things; instead, Merlin smiled at Elena’s cheerful invite, and fell into conversation with Lancelot as the group wound its way through the Market. 

The tavern they decided on was one Arthur had been in before. It was busy, but they found a free table in a corner. The Knights squeezed onto the benches on either side; luckily, no one except for Arthur was wearing the chainmail portion of their regular day-clothing, but coming from the gym meant that there was some good-natured grumbling about sweaty skin and body odor. 

Arthur was nudging Merlin to slide in between Leon and Gwaine when he felt Merlin’s stance waver, his body momentarily wobbling. He instinctively reached out and rested one hand on Merlin’s arm, offering support.

It was only for a moment, and Arthur would not have noticed if he hadn’t been standing right next to Merlin. It was still enough for Gwaine to sense something. 

“You all right?” asked Gwaine, twisting his head around to look at Merlin.

Merlin waved off Gwaine's attention. "I've been feeling a little... off, lately. Maybe I've caught a bug."

He did seem a bit peaky – but it was definitely not Arthur’s concern. Not in the least. He made himself let go of Merlin’s arm.

 

"Well, Lancelot started it, you see," said Elyan, waving for Percival to pass the half-full pitcher down the table. “His Highness and Leon, they inherited their ships, but the rest of us got to commission ours. Lancelot named his after the griffin he defeated, which was what convinced Uther to allow a commoner to take the Trials.”

Arthur instinctively searched out Lancelot, finding him at the end of the table. Lancelot smiled and nodded modestly when Gwaine raised a tankard in his direction, but Arthur could tell he was preoccupied. 

When the pitcher was empty, Arthur stood up on the guise of picking up a fresh one in person – which they’d determined was faster than waiting for the busy staff to get to their table. An order via the compad meant that one was waiting for him when he got to the bar, and he barely managed to avoid spilling it when a large party decided to leave while he was on his way back. He triumphantly placed the pitcher on the end of the table and let the others sort out who needed a top-up. Lancelot did not look surprised when Arthur placed a knee on the end of the bench, making his intent clear, and dropping down to sit once everybody else on the bench obligingly scooted up to make room.

They did not speak for several minutes. "You disapprove." Arthur guessed. “Of Gwaine?”

“No, not Gwaine.” Lancelot sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that man in the gym.”

“The one who was spouting insults at us?”

Lancelot nodded. "You ought not humiliate men like him in such a public place, Arthur."

"If you are concerned that he may retaliate, I doubt that one such as he would have the resources to arrange for a convenient injury or assassination.”

"Aye, he cannot touch you, but he _can_ punish those he believes have witnessed his shame. Or others who are connected to the situation. The owner of the gym, for instance."

"The owner wasn't even there!"

"And yet the incident was allowed to take place within his premises." Lancelot sighed. "Arthur, I do not blame you for what you did, and every person who heard the things said would agree that the rough treatment was justified. But things here are different from Camelot. The ripples of your actions can reach further and deeper than you might think.”

It was worse, in some ways, than a rebuke from his own father, though Lancelot never raised his voice, nor even looked angry. Arthur sighed. “One day, you are going to realize that I am not the great man that you’ve somehow become convinced I am.”

“I respectfully disagree, sire.” Lancelot smiled. “If anything, I see more and more evidence of it each day.”

“What do you mean?”

“A few years ago, you would have drawn the fight out as long as you could, and not stopped until someone made you. And you wouldn’t have listened to anything I had to say, after.”

 

 

"What do you want, Merlin?" asked Arthur without looking away from the comp screen floating in front of him. He’d given Gwaine, and by extension Merlin, his suite number and a pass on his door locks and an open invitation to drop by whenever they wished. For some reason, he hadn’t entirely expected Merlin to take him up on it. He tried to radiate annoyance at being interrupted, but he was much too relieved to get a distraction from-

"Is that a treatise on farming methods suitable for planets with a late-cycle sun?" A familiar profile blocked out the light from the sole lamp in the room.

"Congratulations, you know how to read," muttered Arthur.

"And write, too, in an emergency," returned Merlin, a smile in his voice. 

Arthur snuck a glance, almost against his will - and quickly regretted it, because Merlin was grinning openly at him. The low light should, by all accounts, have made his features harder to see, but it seemed to have the opposite effect: cheekbones carved sharper by shadows, and blue eyes twinkling from the light off the screen. And for all that he clearly found Arthur's reading material lacking, he didn't ask any bothersome questions about _why_ Arthur was reading it. 

"Again, was there something you wanted?" The biting tone that Arthur was aiming for came out softer, almost tired.

Merlin blinked. After a brief hesitation that suggested he might have changed what he'd intended to say, he simply offered, "Do you want to see more of the city?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I've been given a tour of every public section and deck of this city at least a dozen times, if not more. And I refuse to endanger my people's welcome here just for a short gander around a restricted area." 

Merlin rolled his eyes. "You would be _my_ guest, and in any case, I wouldn't take you anyplace you're not allowed to be in.” He grinned. “Even us bed-boys have our honor."

 

“I didn’t know you could even come up here,” said Arthur. The combination of having Uther for a father and living in Camelot – where straying off established routes generally led to a messy and eventful death – meant that he could not quite shake the niggling feeling of misbehavior. His trepidation had lessened somewhat after they passed several techies and maintenance staff without incident, no one sparing them a second look.

“You generally can’t, in the newer ships,” said Merlin, nimbly climbing up the ladder ahead of Arthur. Arthur was very nobly keeping his eyes on the metallic rungs. “But the _Dragon’s Egg_ is the most secure part of the city, what with being ensconced by ships on all sides, and these areas are often opened for public tours.”

“It’s not exactly business hours right now, though,” Arthur pointed out.

Merlin glanced down at him, his smile somehow visible in the gloom. “So it’s not _officially_ open, but it’s never officially _closed_ , either. Trust me.”

And Arthur did, was the thing. He trusted Merlin. Perhaps nearly as much as he trusted his Knights. Which was… odd, and he was self-aware enough to recognize it as being somewhat out of character. Arthur usually spent months becoming acquainted with new people, considering every aspect of their history and personality with care. Then again, most of these were individuals he was considering for Knighthood. He couldn’t remember the last person he’d allowed close who hadn’t been in that category. Gwen, probably. 

And that had been when they were _children_.

“You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the mothership called by its actual name before.”

Merlin’s head bobbed. “Yeah, most people call it the Core as well. It’s probably because the _Dragon’s Egg_ is scratched up enough to be hard to read, if you don’t know what you’re looking for.

The ladder led to the uppermost deck of the Quarters. The area was currently used by maintenance, but might have been an observation deck when the Core was a proper space-faring mothership: one entire stretch of wall was a viewing-window, looking out over a glittering cascade of ship-lights. Relatively dim, considering it was ship’s night, but Arthur thought he liked this better, as the lights almost matched the background splash of stars, the outermost wisps of the Dragon curling crimson in the corner. 

He thought, suddenly, of the great cave he’d visited but once as a child: the light of a single candle reflecting off crests and creases of crystals. 

They walked the deck in comfortable silence. Merlin seemed to understand that Arthur appreciated the quiet. The top part of the main façade of the Core was partially visible from the far end of the deck.

" _Kindred from the journey_ ," Arthur read aloud. He'd seen the words every time took a shuttle or one of the connector tubes towards the Core. It looked a bit different, though, from so high up the Quarters. "What does it mean? I've always wondered."

"Originally? No one remembers, and it's not recorded anywhere known," said Merlin. "I think it means that our journeys join us together. We make our kin, our tribes, with the people whose experiences we share.”

Merlin launched into a story about Gwaine getting into trouble with his sister and hiding out in maintenance areas such as this. Arthur listened contentedly and allowed himself to be led to a different deck, taking a different route from the one they’d used before. Merlin might have been like a tree-mouse on ladders but evidently couldn’t handle _stairs_ ; Arthur reached out and steadied him without thinking about it.

He didn’t realize he’d left his right hand on Merlin’s arm, until he _did_. Merlin either didn’t mind or hadn’t even noticed, engrossed in his storytelling, which had somehow spawned a plague of beetles. Arthur reluctantly pulled away.

Except, Merlin grabbed his hand. And continued to hold on to it. The grip was light, mostly around Arthur’s fingers, as if to reassure Arthur that he could pull away if he wanted to. Arthur didn’t think there’d ever been anything he wanted less. Also, he wasn’t entirely sure he remembered how to _breathe_.

Arthur forced in a breath and slid his fingers further into Merlin’s grip, until their palms met. His heart was somewhere at the level of his throat, it seemed, which made swallowing difficult. A twitch, a shift in angle – he wasn’t sure who, at this point, or if it was both of them – and their fingers were sliding together. Interlacing.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur was tired at Court the following morning, having had much less sleep he ought to have had. He entertained a flash of guilt when he met up with Percival and Lancelot; his Knights would be the ones blamed if anything had happened to him the night before. Yet he could not bring himself to regret it. Still fresh on his mind was Merlin’s face upon depositing Arthur safely back at his door, as promised; sweet, unabashed happiness. 

And all they’d done was _hold hands_.

He woke up the rest of the way when, right before the Halls opened for business, Lord Green bustled in, followed shortly by a fresh-faced Gwaine and _Merlin_. Arthur didn’t have time to flounder in political uncertainty before Gwaine sauntered over to him and warmly greeted him with a firm clasping of hands, as between old friends. Then it would only be rude to not address Merlin as well. 

The exchange of bows was perfectly correct; their expressions, not quite so. A warm feeling bloomed in Arthur’s center and billowed outward, saturating the rest of him with its pleasantness.

Arthur was careful not to look at Merlin directly again, but the sheer fact of Merlin’s nearness buoyed him through the morning session, which seemed to pass more quickly than usual. 

When Court broke for midday, Gwaine materialized next to Arthur’s chair and made noise about having to postpone their lunch appointment – which Arthur hadn’t known they’d made – many apologies from House Green, etc. “here, please allow my attendant to keep you company in my stead.”

An overly exaggerated wink at an approaching Percival, and then Gwaine was off again, invisible in the chaos that was a room full of courtiers trying to decide if food was in their near future. “I’m not entirely sure the Cavalcade is prepared to have him as Lord Green,” said Arthur. Was Percival _blushing_?

“I suspect he thinks he’s easing them into it,” grinned Merlin. 

Arthur chuckled. He supposed this was the point he invited Merlin for a lunch – date? appointment? – only, Gwaine had technically already done so; and sweet mercy, Arthur realized that he’d just been _set up on a date_ by _Gwaine_

He found himself strangely reluctant. Not about spending time with Merlin, but doing so in such a _traditional_ manner when they already spent so much time abiding by their respective roles.

“I realize that this is going to sound like a tacky and suggestive invitation,” began Arthur, “but would you like to see my spaceship?”

 

“Merlin, this is Excalibur. Excalibur, Merlin.”

Arthur left his Knights outside, where they would undoubtedly be speculating over the fact that Arthur showing anyone Excalibur was a fairly significant indicator of… something. Attachment? Half the Knights didn’t get the invitation until they started losing the shine on their armor.

“Wow,” said Merlin.

“Pleased to meet you, Master Merlin,” said Excalibur. She sounded pleased.

Arthur had seen a wide gamut of responses. Most were a variation on, _it’s an AI!_ ; one or two of his Knights had merely shrugged; a few had jumped and tried to pull out a weapon, convinced that the rumors about ghosts were true. 

Arthur had learned not to allow weapons for the first introductions. 

Merlin just beamed, unabashedly delighted. “You’re a rare beauty, Excalibur. I would not have expected to find an AI in a ship with this configuration. Very sneaky.” 

“Thank you,” said Excalibur, the same time as Arthur blurted, “my mother programmed her.”

“Oh,” said Merlin, eyes widening.

In Camelot, everyone knew the story of how Arthur was born. How his mother had fallen ill, had so worn herself out working on Excalibur that she barely survived giving birth to Arthur. How her last request had been to bring her newborn to the ship; had sat in the pilot-chair with him and watched the consoles light up for the first time even as her own body failed. They'd fallen asleep together, there; she never woke again. 

There was a famous painting done, many years ago, of a grieving Uther carrying her back into the Castle. 

Her death was formally declared a handful of hours later. But Arthur knew, in his blood and in his bones, that she'd died there in Excalibur; her body had simply taken a bit of time to catch up. 

“…by means of a prototype crystal matrix, which also circumvents the disruptive field from the Dragon.”

“And this field is what’s been rendering most electrically-powered technologies unusable on the planet, right?” asked Merlin.

“That is correct.”

“Don’t encourage her,” interjected Arthur. “She’ll take any excuse to show off her circuitry.”

“Doesn’t seem like she has a lot of options for company, back in Camelot,” said Merlin. He hesitated. “May I ask you something?”

Arthur did not know how the AI could tell to which of them Merlin had directed the question, but clearly she could, as she was the one who replied, “Please.”

“AIs are conventionally referred to using gender-neutral pronouns - at least, the ones I’ve encountered. Is there a reason Arthur refers to you as female?”

“I requested it,” said Excalibur. “It seemed… more fitting, in a way I cannot adequately quantify.”

“No, that’s fine.” Merlin patted the nearest bulkhead. “That’s really all that matters.”

 

They were walking idly along one of the lowest Market decks, occasionally investigating the stalls of used equipment – Arthur had found an intact conductivity gauge here for Gwen, once – when he saw Merlin stagger mid-step. "Merlin!"

Arthur barely caught Merlin before he hit the floor. 

Leon appeared, as if out of thin air; Arthur usually forgot one of his Knights was always, inevitably, nearby. He spared a moment to be glad that it was Leon on shift today. The Knight didn't try to take Merlin, instead steadying him against Arthur and slipping one lanky Merlin-arm over Arthur's shoulders.

Merlin was considerably heavier than his frame would suggest. That was _muscle_ under the ridiculous garments; Arthur remembered graceful leaps through the air, twists and spins and weapons stopped by bare hands.

Thank goodness for Leon, as well, because Arthur could not, at present, remember the way to the hospital if his life depended on it, much less Merlin's. He knew there were a number of clinics scattered throughout the city, but the hospital would have the best equipment; he rationalized that Gwaine might be offended if Arthur got Merlin sub-par medical care. Leon, who could never let a schematic or floor map pass his way without memorizing every inch, guided him confidently through the hallways and lifts. A few people stared, but this side of the Market, most of them would be commoners who wouldn’t recognize one noble from another. Probably. 

Arthur could not find it in himself to care.

 

"Arthur, there's something you should know,” said Merlin, refusing to meet his gaze. 

“Are you ill?" asked Arthur. “You haven’t been feeling well for a while; I’ve heard Gwaine asking you.”

“It is not – I’ve had it for a while. Just – know that I would have told you, sooner or later.” Those blue eyes finally met his, and the fear there nearly made Arthur flinch. Merlin held out his hand, the meaning clear, and Arthur carefully took it. Merlin's fingers trembled under his own.

Merlin brought both their hands to his chest. The skin through his thin shirt felt cool. Merlin frowned, as if concentrating. Arthur felt it first: a faint humming, like Excalibur after a long flight.

A seam appeared down the center of Merlin's chest.

Arthur flinched, though he kept his hand on Merlin's skin. Merlin's _living_ skin. It looked as if a sharp knife had sliced through. The downward line turned a clean ninety-degrees around the level of Merlin's diaphragm, heading towards Merlin's left side. It stopped at the edge of Merlin's ribs.

It was Merlin who gingerly peeled back the skin. Instead of ribs, there was a clear elastic layer, and then a metallic framework made up of a delicate-looking lattice. The thread-like metal retracted or shifted aside, layer by layer, until Arthur was looking down at a softly-glowing sphere made out of a white, semi-translucent substance. After a moment, he realized that there were metallic threads wrapped all around the sphere too, but these ones were thinner than silk, and a thick coil of them went through the sphere. Through the sphere's glow, he could see the threads diverging and spreading out at the center of the sphere, then bending close together again on their way out the other side. 

The configuration of the Crip looked a bit like the bulb of a tangle-lily at full bloom, or an upside-down cup. It was beautiful.

"As you can see, good Prince - I am not entirely whole," whispered Merlin.

Arthur's hand had slid down to Merlin's stomach, but remained in contact. He wondered if Merlin could feel the tentative pressure of his fingertips. His skin had nerves on his hands, on his face, but what about this area? Merlin's eyes met his gaze directly, bravely. Arthur could not begin to imagine the courage it must take to manage this, to literally _open up_ and lay bare one's body in the most physical way possible. 

"You look all of a piece, to me," said Arthur, finally. 

 

At first he thought that the hard shaking was something to do with the engines; the modifications that increased a ship's chances of surviving the Valley of the Fallen Kings were never entirely compatible with the original design of the ship, and usually resulted in a few quirks, which differed amongst the Camelot ships. Excalibur's was mainly in the engines.

But the sudden blaring of half a dozen alarms at once made him realize that this wasn't just a mechanical hiccup.

"Interference detected," announced Excalibur.

On instinct, Arthur looked around for the window that showed the ship's shield strength. It was floating on the right side of the nav projection. He was about to pull it closer when something shifted in the air, almost like a sigh, and his shields were just - gone. 

Not damaged, or compromised - deactivated. As if he'd turned them off. Faster than if he'd tried to turn them off, since that required the pilot's override code.

Another shift, and Arthur made a mental note to check his air ventilation systems, because this one sounded almost like a _snarl_.

His shielding came back on again. At full power.

Just in time, too - something hit the ship hard enough to send it reeling. Arthur gritted his teeth and brought his ship around to aim his forward cannons at the attacker. The raider looked similar to the one that had taken out Gwaine's ship, but Arthur could not be sure; he hadn't been able to get a good look at it, between his shock at what it had done and trying to save Gwaine's life.

Both of his shots hit their target. The raider spun away, one wing burning. 

Arthur was just beginning to breathe normally again, calming down from a disaster averted, when he felt his ship shudder from a proximity explosion. He could not make out what was happening; the nav projection was not much help, as there were too many dots clustered around the area he was in. 

"Dorocha has been hit," said Excalibur. "Damage is substantial but not yet critical."

Either Excalibur or Arthur managed to turn the ship around in the right direction. Arthur saw Dorocha trying to flee from a raider. Dorocha was missing the tip of one wing and part of the tail section, and one of engines was a blackened mess. Despite the damage, Percival was still able to fly in a straight direction, successfully dodging the next shot from the raider.

"Arthur," said Excalibur, "Dorocha's shields are non-functional."

He'd guessed as much. "Urgent: All Camelot," he barked, "Camelot, rally to Dorocha. I repeat, rally to Dorocha."

He was firing his main guns at the raider even as he sent the command. The raider's shields absorbed most of the beam-shots, but the attack drew its attention from Percival's damaged ship. 

Arthur pushed hard on all his engines and flew a tight curve around the raider. His shields held up well under the glancing blows; he found himself repeatedly glancing at the display to check that they were still functioning. He managed to get a good enough angle to fire one of his cannons. The raider narrowly evaded it. 

Only to be hit, dead-on, by two missiles from two different directions. The ensuing explosion lit up Arthur's main window, even with Excalibur activating the sun shielding. He heard two shouts of vengeful satisfaction over the open comm line before Lamia and Pixie swooped past him. 

Clearly, he was going to have to be careful about pairing Elyan and Elena together in the future. 

"Alert," came Lancelot's voice, "there's a bright spot coming in." Bright meant top speed.

It took an extra second for Arthur to remember: Dorocha had no shields. He had been so focused on getting the initial raider, shaken by the memory of Gwaine's ship being sliced into two and his own near-miss, that it'd slipped his mind that, without shields, Dorocha was vulnerable to any of enemy ships.

Excalibur turned neatly around. But he’d gone too far, had to evade a small field of debris to make his way back to Dorocha. He came into view the same time as the new raider did. He was at a bad angle for a shot, with Dorocha in the way. The raider had no such obstacles. Two points emerged from its sides: missiles, heading straight for Percival.

And then there was another ship streaking by; a moment later, the missiles exploded mid-way to their destination. The blast rattled Excalibur.

Arthur fumbled the comm line. “Good shot, Cav Eight-Five.”

“Thank you, Cam One,” responded Gwaine, firing now at the raider. He was quickly joined by Lion. Between them, the raider lasted barely another minute, finally falling to a well-placed shot from Gwaine’s shiny new Squadron ship.

Arthur opened a line to all his people. “Griffin and Lamia, rescue-lines on Dorocha. Everyone else, help clear a path. Let’s make sure Dorocha makes it home.”

 

Percival half-heartedly attempted to convince them to return to the Quarters, but none of the Knights budged from the chairs they'd dragged into the private room. In fact, Gwaine and Merlin showed up as well, the former clearly straight from the Cavalcade squadrons' debrief, and somehow managed to cram themselves into the room as well. 

When Gaius appeared to check on Percival, he merely rolled his eyes at the number of people in the room. They knew better than to interrupt the physician’s work.

Finally, Gaius declared, “He’s bruised and a bit burnt around the edges, and I’d like to keep him overnight for observation, but barring any complications, he can leave in the morning.”

The symbol on Gaius' necklace caught his eye. "You are a follower of the Old Religion?" asked Arthur. The physician's startled look reminded him. "Ah, apologies, I'd forgotten that it is impolite to openly ask such things here."

"It's quite all right, my boy," said Gaius, "and yes, I am."

"But - aren't they the ones yelling about 'survival of the strong' all over the Market? asked Elena. "The ones who do those awful things to people who have Crips."

Gaius sighed. "I'm afraid those fools do, indeed, claim to follow the Old Religion as well." He gently patted her hand. "One thing you'll find, young Knight, is that zealotry is like an unfortunate rash that inevitably crops up whenever a group of people become invested in a particular cause or belief. Are there not people in Camelot who believe that House Pendragon was awarded the right to rule by the gods themselves?"

Elena nodded, her expression scrunching up in distaste.

"And I daresay there are others who believe that the royal Houses should be struck down entirely." Gaius shrugged. "The Old Religion, as the name implies, has been around for a very, very long time. I follow it because I believe in its power to heal, in the strength it gives to those who are suffering. It is also a big part of the history of Ealdor, which is my House."

 

Eventually, they were reassured of Percival’s wellbeing enough to leave the hospital and allow the Knight to rest. The group was quiet, both from general tiredness and from the close call. Arthur knew from experience that Gwaine would be the recipient of free drinks and small favors for the next few days; the Knights’ way of thanking a fellow warrior. 

At some point on the walk back to the Quarters, Arthur noticed Gwaine stealing glances at him.

“What is it?” he asked.

"Your armour," said Gwaine, then hesitated. Arthur thought he understood: Gaius told them that Percival would likely have been injured a lot worse, if he hadn’t been wearing his armour, which the Cavalcade Guards disdained. He saw Elyan narrowing his eyes, ready to be offended, but Arthur thought he had a fair grip of the man, now. Gwaine scratched his head sheepishly; his floppy hair was in even greater disarray than usual. "Might I try it?"

 

Elena's suit was the closest in size to Gwaine's frame - Elyan was of the approximate height but far too broad across the shoulders - and she did not need much persuading in loaning it out, "so long as it's just the once." 

Naturally, the other Knights insisted on being present, and they had to wait for Percival to be discharged; Merlin's attendance went without question. They decided on Arthur's suite. Gwaine's home residence would have been bigger, but carried the risk of encountering the Lord Green. It was a strange situation - the first outfitting of a new Knight in Camelot was a formal occasion. The level of publicity depended on the person. For someone such as Arthur, nothing less than the entire Court was expected to attend; for an immensely popular candidate, such as Lancelot, the ceremony took place outside, in full view of the general public. Leon and Elyan, on the other hand, had had small ceremonies with only their families, the King, and fellow Knights present. 

Gwaine, of course, would not know about any of this. It certainly felt strange to Arthur: here was somebody who had not gone through the training, had not completed the Trials, had not even set foot on Camelot, and he was about to put on Camelot armour _that hadn't been made for him_. 

It didn't mean anything, of course, no more than Mithian drunkenly stealing and putting on the Crown Prince's circlet had held any significance beyond an overabundance of mead after a feast. The casual way the other Knights were treating the entire business, loudly joking around and setting one large compad screen to a local comedy channel, further underlined the general understanding that this was merely a whim, indulged by a group of. Well. _Friends_ , Arthur supposed.

He thought that the popcorn was a bit much, though.

"Are you sure these aren't too loose?" Gwaine was asking. He tugged on the light tunic that was, indeed, a size too broad across the shoulders. 

"You can wear your flightsuit, if you'd prefer," said Leon.

"No, no, I'd like to wear it the same way you lot wear it." Gwaine leaned forward and inspected the chest-panel that Leon was holding. "Just. Doesn't the cloth, you know, get caught between the plates?"

"The chainmail makes sure it doesn't," said Percival.

"Now, it _is_ possible to get the armour on by yourself," said Elyan. "But it's tricky, especially if you're looking to do it quickly. Best if you just let us do most of the work today; it takes months of practice to even do it correctly."

"Except for Arthur's, right?" said Merlin. Everyone turned to look at him. He blinked. "I mean - Arthur's armour always needs somebody else to help him into it."

"That's right," said Arthur. "How did you know?"

"Yours looks different. More complicated." Merlin shrugged. "It just - made sense, somehow."

"How does that make any sense?" asked Gwaine.

Arthur shrugged. "That style of armour is always made for the King or Crown Prince. Traditionally, it's supposed to be a reminder that the King cannot rule without the aid of others. And a King who does not trust the others around him is a weak King."

He caught Merlin's gaze. Merlin looked faintly puzzled, as if he was in the middle of figuring something out. He held Arthur's eyes, though - and something about that connection, effortless and unhesitating, paired with the expression of mild confusion, sent a punch of familiarity through Arthur, so strong he was momentarily unable to breathe, winded as if it had been a physical blow.

There was a loud cough, and Gwaine muttering, "right, he was staring at His Highness' _armour_ , of course".

Elena shoved a handful of popcorn right into Gwaine's mouth. 

 

"This isn't as heavy as I was expecting," announced Gwaine, a half-hour later. He lifted one leg, then the other, looking delighted when the metal plates clicked against each other. He looked up, beaming and pleased, and blinked at the group clustered around him. "What? Am I moving wrong?"

"Anyone else think..." Elena trailed off, as if realizing she didn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Yeah," said Elyan quietly.

Gwaine glared at them. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Merlin. The puzzlement from earlier was back on his face. 

"It's hard to explain," said Lancelot. "But. It suits you."

Remarkably so. Gwaine had instinctively adjusted his stance and posture to accommodate the additional weight. Some new Knights struggled with reestablishing their center of balance, despite months of training in padded suits; Gwaine, after a few tentative stretches, moved as if he'd been wearing armour since he was a child. 

“Take up a sword and no one back home would even question that you are one of us,” said Arthur.

For some reason, Gwaine beamed with embarrassed pleasure at that.

 

"I grew up here," said Merlin; an unexpected confession in the middle of telling Arthur about some of Cavalcade’s history. "Gwaine did, as well, though he likes it less - but he hasn't got a choice now. I'm sort of glad about it, to be honest."

"Do you have family here, then?" asked Arthur.

"My mother's currently in the Saxon cluster, somewhere. She has a brother here." Merlin played with his empty disposable cup. “My father died many years ago.”

Arthur barely stopped himself from asking more: what was Merlin's mother's name? Did he miss his father? Where was this uncle? Plausibly respectable questions, still, but for the startling fervency with which Arthur wanted to _know_.

He'd never been so drawn to another person before. He'd felt interest, of varying degrees and natures, and once thought himself in love with Guinevere. There'd been naught of this... possessiveness, as if he could happily hoard every scrap of Merlin he was allowed to have. 

Merlin went back to talking about the city. "The Cavalcade isn't particularly well planned, as cities go; it is a right mess in some parts. And it isn't particularly kind. I hear that there are cities out there where people can actually walk around without guards." Merlin gestured out at the view. "But have you ever looked at a place and felt that something about it just _fits_ you? Like you're meant to be there, that it's _right_ for you to be there. That's how this city feels, to me."

Arthur thought of high spires, of crumbling walls with embattled parapets, of gargoyles and other creatures cast in stone to stand guard over the hill. A city of a wild land, _his_ , courageous and defiant. "I think I know what you mean."

 

They were in Arthur’s sitting room, and Arthur was watching the way Merlin handled the knife he confessed as being his favorite weapon. The easy grace of his movements, the confidence in every flex of muscle; the disarming precision, here, when he was clumsy and ridiculous everywhere else. It was the clash between the two that had made it difficult for Arthur to even contemplate the possibility. Merlin knocked over expensive wine glasses and hated the thought of killing thumb-spiders; Merlin could hack into a locked room and stop flying knives with his bare hands.

"You're a Servant". It took him a moment to realize that the words in his mind had also travelled all the way to his mouth.

The knife’s spinning halted. "I wondered how long it would take for you to figure it out."

For a moment, Arthur felt hot and ill, as if he were pumped full of the Questing Beast’s poison. "I must have provided many hours of amusement for you and Gwaine, bumbling about as I have."

"Arthur, you know Gwaine and I respect you more than that," sighed Merlin. "I wanted to tell you."

"Then why didn't you?"

" _Because I am not allowed._ "

They stared at each other. Bright spots of color appeared high on Merlin's cheek. Arthur felt his anger deflating.

"I am not allowed," repeated Merlin, voice quieter. "It is acceptable for others to figure it out themselves, as long as the knowledge does not compromise my position, but I cannot tell them myself." His shoulders slumped. “Arthur, I would – I would never harm you, or your Knights. You must believe that.”

“What?” Arthur frowned. “Of course you wouldn’t. Even if you _could_ ,” and here he deliberated blocked out the memory of a blade slowing as it spun in midair, “I’m quite certain Gwaine would be cross with you.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “And Gaius.”

He firmly told himself that Merlin's inexplicable deadliness was not at all appealing, _in any way_. 

Merlin kept staring at him.

“Are you all right?” Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Is it your artificial heart?”

“Um, no, no, the Crip is fine.” Merlin shook his head. “Come on, the trees in the West Garden are putting on a show tonight.”

 

The luminescent blossoms of the trees in the West Garden were, indeed, quite a spectacle, especially a few drinks of something that Merlin passed him in an unmarked bottle: honey-sweet and warming in the belly.

It got Arthur talking about the forests around Camelot. "There are trees with leaves like silver pine needles, and if one of the needles pierces your skin, you fall into a deep sleep, never waking, until eventually your body wastes away. Flowers whose pollen eats you from the inside. Animals that look exactly like stone, right until you come close enough for them to pounce on you."

Most people, in Arthur's experience, tended to look equal parts horrified and fascinated by this point. Merlin was smiling at him.

"What?" said Arthur irritably.

"You love it," said Merlin, huffing sheepishly. "Camelot. You speak of its perils with the pride of a warrior who has been tested against them. You live in a world that could kill you at any moment, and you won't have it any other way."

"All worlds, all places, are perilous in their own way," said Arthur. "Camelot is simply a bit more active. There's a strange elegance about it, almost, especially when entire swathes of forest work together."

"Is this why there are only five settlements?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. He should have expected Merlin to read the official accounts of Camelot's geography. "We have five main settlements, yes: the Castle, Upper Town, Lower Town, Fyrien, Goedref. But there are little villages and farms scattered everywhere."

Merlin blinked. "Even with the homicidal forests?"

"Even with the homicidal forests," nodded Arthur. "We've been there for generations; people always find a way. In my last tour, I saw houses built right alongside the Pool of Nemhain, even though the water is full of flesh-eating weeds."

"Is it true that people are not allowed to cover their faces?"

"In the settlements, aye," said Arthur. "Head-coverings like the burka are fine, but the eyes and mouth have to be visible at all times. There are predators that can imitate people. They target the vulnerable - the young, the old, the sick - and a few have managed to kill over a dozen victims before they were discovered. For some reason, replicating human eyes and mouths usually gives them trouble; the wrong sort of color, or a bit too many teeth. They're quite rare, fortunately."

"That seems like an incredibly elaborate adaptation," said Merlin, finally looking a little wide-eyed. "And you say that more than _one_ species of animal can do this?"

"Not just animals," said Arthur. "When the bulbs of multiple Loffies - which is a type of flower, very colorful - knock together, they make a sound like children giggling. The flowers are fairly harmless, on their own, but their pollen attracts a number of very unpleasant insects, so children are taught to always wash up if they ever wander into a colorful field on a windy day." Arthur shook his head. "My favorite, though, is the Old Man in the woods."

Merlin tilted his head questioningly. 

"What looks like an old man wandering the woods. Most often seen in the late autumn, though he's been spotted in all seasons." Arthur shrugged. "It's an illusion created by certain groupings of trees, combined with strong winds and the late afternoon sunlight. You see a stooped figure standing under a tree, or walking from tree to tree, and the wind in the branches sounds like somebody stomping through dry underbrush. My father demonstrated it, once. It doesn't seem very impressive now, but it's highly effective. I've seen the old man many times; even when you know it's a trick of the light, you can't help but feel that there _is_ someone there."

 

"I cannot imagine anyone letting you go," he wanted to say to Merlin, as the end of his three weeks on the Cavalcade drew near, because it would be the truth. But such words would only hurt the both them. Discreet dalliances were indulged, at best; this was not something Arthur would be able to _keep_.

 

Arthur's final day in Court was utterly unremarkable. The petitioners were either repeat cases that they could not do anything about at that time, or minor matters that involved multiple Guilds, which gave the parties involved the right to an audience. Even Lord Green looked ready for the day to be over. Lady Nimueh took to staring at random courtiers as if attempting to set them on fire by her eyes alone. At least it encouraged the steady circulation of the crowds between the Inner and Outer Hall.

There was a slight increase in the overall hum of conversation in the Inner Hall. The crowd parted; two women walked into the floor, their faces directed towards the ground. Arthur knew it was the old custom for supplicants, but he couldn't help twitching and thinking longingly of his sword. In Camelot, a hidden face could potentially be any number of dangerous things in disguise. 

"We are the daughters of Lord Gorlois," said the golden-haired one. "I am Morgause. This is my sister, Morgana."

“The children of Lord Gorlois and Lady Vivienne are always welcome in the Cavalcade,” said Queen Annis. 

Arthur made a point of seeking them out before heading into the Close. "My condolences on the loss of your father. It is unfortunate that you arrived on the eve of my departure; else, I would have liked to become better acquainted with you, on my father's behalf."

"Indeed. Our father often spoke dearly of yours." Morgana smiled. "Our business here might take a while; perhaps we will still be in residence when next you visit."

"In that case, I hope the both of you have a pleasant stay here, and look forward to our next meeting." Arthur made a brief bow, which the two sisters echoed.

"Safe journey, Arthur of Camelot," said Morgause, smiling.

 

They met on the maintenance deck that had become a familiar haunt, encircled by the lights of the city.

"I do not know where this leaves us," admitted Arthur.

Merlin bowed his head. He glanced to the side, as if stealing a peek at Arthur; he seemed to be working not to smile. "Neither do I."

For some reason, the knowledge that both of them were floundering about was somewhat comforting. "I will come back."

"And I will be here."

Merlin's fingers felt chilled and thin under Arthur's hand. Arthur knew better than to underestimate the strength in them. _Into these hands I entrust my life_ , he thought distantly. 

A dream too impossible to hope for, and yet too late to banish.

"Take care of yourself," he finally said, voice gruff.

Merlin carefully and deliberately laced their fingers together. "Be well, my Prince."

 

"The Valley's coming up," reported Leon. "Readings from this side are promising."

"Thank you, Lion." Arthur made minute adjustments to Excalibur’s trajectory. "Valley passage formation, Knights, we're going in smooth and easy. Excalibur, in position."

"Lion, in position." 

Arthur briefly switched to his rear-cam while the call-outs continued down the line. At this distance, the gentle light of the Dragon barely illuminated any of the ship-steel, so that the Cavalcade looked like a particularly dense cluster of stars - the glitter of a million little lights. 

He realized that he'd forgotten to ask how many ships there were in the Fleet. Merlin would know something like that.

It was something, perhaps, for their next meeting.

"Right, lads," he said, once Percival confirmed his place in the formation. "If you've got any doubts, troubles, or last-minute confessions, voice them now."

"Percival's taken a fancy on somebody!" 

"Oy, it's supposed to be your _own_ confessions, Galahad," laughed Elyan. 

"Thank you," said Percival primly.

"You're welcome," said Elyan. A beat passed, then, "So, who is it?" 

Arthur found himself laughing with the rest of them when Percival groaned, though he did comment, dryly, "I hope I won't hear any of you complaining about Cavalcade court gossiping when the lot of you are just as nosy."

"To be fair, this is one of the prime topics there right now." There was a surprised pause in the chatter when everyone realized the new voice was Leon's. Leon clearly noticed, and said, mildly affronted, "I _do_ listen, you know, even if I don't pass it on."

"What? You've been holding out on me?" cried Elyan.

"All right, lads, thirty seconds," Arthur interrupted. He was smiling, though, and he thought the chorus of "Aye!" over the channel sounded cheerful. It was good to go into the Valley with the morale high. This particular group of Knights were all nearly as experienced as he was, and those who'd never gone through the Valley might think that they've become immune to the stresses of the journey. The Knights knew better - they knew that one had to take every measure possible, and even so, it was not always enough.

He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Excalibur, his Knights, or to another who wasn’t even around to hear, when he said, “See you on the other side.”

**~ END OF ACT ONE ~**

"Go home, old man, you poor old man  
find no more dreams to feed   
for ancient wood has gone to land  
and stars have gone to seed  
so mind, old man, go find your way  
so poor, indeed  
and old, indeed  
to still be lost to-day!"  
\- a Camelot nursery rhyme 


	8. Chapter 8

ACT TWO: CENRED  
Chapter Seven

At first glance, the room gave every appearance of being empty; but knowledge of its occupant's habits and the report from the somewhat uncomfortable Elyan outside led Arthur to peek into the bathroom. A short figure was sitting on the tiled floor, slumped forward with her head buried in her arms. 

She didn't look up at his approach, only whispering, "I’m sorry, I’m just. I find that I can’t quite stop shaking."

"Gwen." Arthur carefully sat down next to her. Once, he might have put an arm about her. But there was one road that ought not to be retaken. Fortunately, being a Prince had made him accustomed to the soft regret of possibilities passing beyond reach; as King, he would have to be even more familiar with it. “I’ve been flying for most of my life, as you know, and I’ve yet to find any journey more difficult than the one through the Valley of the Fallen Kings. I’ve known hardened warriors who ended up insensate from it. Do not be ashamed of being affected.”

“I was only a passenger,” said Gwen. “I can’t imagine actually having to fly the ship through that.”

“In some ways it might be easier; at least, I would rather be the one in the chair, than have to trust my life to the skills of another.”

“It did help to know that it was Elyan in the bridge.” Gwen’s breathing was slowing, and her hands had stopped clutching her skirts.

“I appreciate you coming along, when you didn’t have to,” said Arthur. “It means a great deal to me.”

“I promised you that I would be there when you were crowned King.”

“You were with me in Camelot.”

“That was only half the coronation. Besides, I figured I ought to be here, since you gave me a title and all.” She was trying to sound flippant, but Arthur heard the catch in her voice. It had been but a day since the funeral; Arthur would have been willing to wait longer, but Elyan insisted that they could mourn on the Cavalcade just as well as they could anywhere else. 

"You have been doing most of your father's work for years. Everyone knows it. This is less of a promotion and more of... an acknowledgment."

"He wasn't the same after Uther accused him of smuggling tech," said Gwen. "He wouldn't have stayed on, I think, if not for me and out of gratitude to you."

"To me?" asked Arthur, eyebrows rising in surprise.

"It meant a lot to him, that you stood up to your King and your own father on his behalf," said Gwen. "He always said that letting somebody else be in charge of your equipment, of your safety, would be an affront to his honor." She smiled at him. "That's one of the reasons I started my training, you know. I mean, we always knew I would be the one taking after my father's work, not Elyan, but you were the reason I wanted to be the _best_ at it."

"And you are," said Arthur sincerely. "And, you know, it is perfectly natural to be unsure of yourself; but I can say, without an ounce of doubt, that you are the best person in all of Camelot for this position. I can think of no one worthier - and even more importantly, I can think of no one whom I trust more." 

Gwen's coloring made her blushes barely noticeable - something which Arthur frequently envied her for when they were unruly adolescents - but her pleased embarrassment was clear in the way she smiled at him.

Somebody nearby cleared their throat pointedly. 

Arthur looked up and felt his stomach lurch unpleasantly. "Merlin."

"My Lord," said Merlin coolly, his small bow perfectly correct for their distance in rank. _New distance_ , Arthur reminded himself numbly.

Resigning the tense tangle inside his chest to the room with the other unreachable possibilities, Arthur suppressed a sigh and stood, feeling Gwen instinctively following his actions by his side. "Merlin, I would like you to meet Smith Guinevere, the new Quartermaster of Camelot. Lady Guinevere, this is Merlin of House Green."

Merlin nodded his head at her. “Quartermaster.” Gwen, in true Gwen fashion, leapt to her feet, swept forwards, and grasped Merlin by the arms. 

"So you're the Merlin that Elyan keeps talking about!" exclaimed Gwen. "He's my brother, in case you were wondering. And call me Gwen, please, everyone else does."

"Gwen," echoed Merlin obediently. Arthur had to bite his lips to suppress his smile at the frozen uncertainty on Merlin's face. It hadn't occurred to him that Gwen would hear about the goings-on in Cavalcade from the Knights. The Knights were a fairly insular group, protective of each other's privacy, and especially of Arthur's; but, of course, Gwen was hardly an outsider. 

It was as if the arrival of someone new returned Gwen’s usual spirits to. She dusted her skirts off and said, “Look at the time! We should let Arthur get ready. Merlin, my brother tells me that you are well-versed in the customs of the Court here.”

The two of them strode off. Arthur heard Merlin reply with a cautious, “I am.”

“Then,” there was a clatter from the sitting room; most likely Gwen picking up her compad, “please, tell me what you think of these alterations to the Knights’ armour, I would hate to accidentally copy an existing design from another House-” Their voices were cut off by the closing of the front door.

Arthur sighed and picked himself up from the floor.

 

The Knights had trooped in and helped him dress, and left him alone again, when Arthur remembered something that caused shards of panic to storm through his gut. "The honour-bearer! I haven't arranged for one!" he shouted from the settee, nearly dropping his half-eaten slice of toast. The detail had slipped his mind. He'd always assumed it would be Annis, as House Caerleon, but of course she could not do it while she was Queen. 

"Breathe, Your Majesty." Strong hands clamped down on his shoulders, squeezing, then Gwaine's familiar grin popped into view. "Don't worry about it."

Guilt joined the mess of emotions and spilt bread crumbs that Arthur was embroiled in. "Did Merlin do something?"

"No - not that he wouldn't have, of course, but it turned out he didn't, in fact, have to." A hard slap on Arthur's arm. "See you inside!"

Arthur stared, mystified, after Gwaine, who was already sauntering towards the door. "Wait, how did you even get in here?"

 

The confirmation of a new King by the Cavalcade Court was an entirely different animal from merely welcoming the Crown Prince. The door between the Inner and Outer Halls stood wide open, and both spaces were filled to bursting with courtiers and commoners, all in their finery.

Arthur got through most of the ceremony in a daze, exhausted already and operating on far less sleep than usual. He bowed his head, and knelt, and recited words, presumably all at the appropriate times. Annis read out an old speech from the first High Court, as a reminder of the history between Camelot and the Cavalcade.

Eventually she asked, “Who shall now vouchsafe this new King of House Pendragon, that their character is in accord with the laws and customs of these Great Halls?”

"House Green stands for Pendragon's honour."

The respectful quiet that had lain over the Inner and Outer Halls shattered delicately into a low murmuring. Arthur thought of a field of sun-dragon blossoms, singing in the sunset during summer.

Annis turned to look at Lord Green, as if needing to check for herself that it was he, indeed, who had spoken. It was the most shock Arthur had ever seen her display in public. Not that the rest of the High Court was much better: Bayard looked like he'd seen a ghost. Nimueh, standing below the dais, glared at Arthur as if this were a conspiracy he'd deliberately sprung upon her unawares.

By the gods, that was probably what it looked like to everyone.

Annis cleared her throat. "By what right does House Green stand?" Her expression was as tightly controlled as ever, but there was a hint of the incredulity that was on everyone else's faces: on the Cavalcade, House Green had, in effect, the rights to do whatever it damn well pleased.

Lord Green met Arthur's eyes. "We are kindred from the first journey," he said softly.

The murmuring swelled, like a wave crashing into the sea. The phrase was older than the city itself. Even those who had never learned Cavalcade's history would have seen the words emblazoned over the Core: _Kindred from the journey_. The original meaning of which had been lost to the centuries.

Then again - Arthur had no confidence in his ability to read Lord Green's face, worn smooth by decades of politics - all the Houses did tend to be jealous of their secrets.

Arthur sank to one knee, his right fist held over his heart. It was another old form, long discontinued in Cavalcade but, fortunately, still in use in Camelot. "Honour to House Green."

He was glad for the slide into old tradition. He was not one to take sensationalist rhetoric such as _the weight of history_ seriously, but he could not deny that there was a strange _heaviness_ in the room, of every moment being leaden down by time; there was a shapeless sort of pulling in his guts, like an inverted free-fall without the build-up, as if he'd been hurtling towards something and only just became aware of it. 

One by one he greeted the members of High Court, and then the rest of the Court; distantly, he felt impressed that he could remember the names of all the Houses. Last, at length, were the eyes he minded the least.

"Welcome to the Cavalcade, King Arthur," said Annis quietly.

 

"Merlin," he began, but then the words that ought to have followed became stuck to his throat.

The informality seemed to be a good choice, in any case: the frozen quality to Merlin's expression softened a little. "Arthur."

And that was when Arthur knew that all his worrying had been needless: Merlin knew, likely already understood the lay of the land better than Arthur himself. Arthur had been trained to lead men, to inspire them, to lead the charge at battle; Merlin had been trained to guide, to navigate the treacherous rivers of politics and personal relations. 

The realization should have been comforting to Arthur, now freed of the necessity of brokering an amiable truce. Instead, it left him feeling worse. As if he owed Merlin something _better_.

"My duty and my people must always come first," said Arthur.

"I know that," said Merlin. Not angry, or frustrated; damningly _kind_. "I've known it from the start."

They'd both known. The only thing lost here was time they should have had.

"If ever you have need of something," said Arthur. "Anything." He kept his eyes steady when they tried to flinch away from Merlin's gaze. His stomach twisted; he ignored it.

_Undefinable complications._

The irony was not lost on Arthur: that his father’s legacy had never seemed so close, his presence a weight in everything Arthur said and did and wanted, as it did now that he was beyond Arthur’s reach.

Merlin inhaled softly. "Be well, King Arthur."

 

"The Lady Hunith is coming?" echoed Arthur.

"Aye, it is the talk of the Court," said Annis. She was being remarkably patient with this low spirits; he anticipated he might get another day or so of gentle handling. She looked at him curiously. "Have you never met her?"

Arthur took a sip of his wine, shook his head. "My father and her were acquainted, I believe. But since I began leading the Camelot delegation, I've yet to be here while she was in residence."

"Then this visit is doubly fortuitous," said Annis. Her smile held a twinkle that hinted at some great secret; he was quite used to seeing it, at this point. "She's never stayed beyond a few weeks, devoted to her work as she is, but this absence has been particularly long. One must wonder if there's a reason for her sudden return."

"If you wish to tell me whatever it is that's got you pleased as a Wildoren after rain, I do wish you'd get on with it," said Arthur. "Stop trying to get me to ask; I shan't, just to spite you."

"Did you know that you look remarkably like Uther when you scowl?" Annis laughed. "Very well, insolent pup, I shall let you discover it for yourself. I've never understood the sort of dramatics these nobles get up to-" Arthur snorted. "-but if there's one thing I've learned while being Queen, it's that people have an inordinate fondness for making things as difficult for themselves as possible." She gave Arthur a pointed look. He blinked back placidly. She half-rolled her eyes, regarding him for a moment, and then her expression took on a curious softness. "Then again, love can make perfectly sensible people behave in ridiculous ways. Mothers can be particularly unpredictable when it comes to their children."

"And fathers," said Arthur, the words slipping out almost of their own volition.

"And fathers," nodded Annis. 

 

"Our deepest condolences for your loss, my Lord," said Morgana. She dipped into a low curtsey. Cavalcade fashion seemed to have cycled back to variants that gave Arthur some trouble; he steadfastly refused to allow his gaze to travel any lower than her chin.

"Losing a parent is never easy," said Morgause, "but at least our father was ill for many years, and his eventual passing was hardly a surprise. King Uther was still in the prime of his life, or so we hear."

“Thank you,” said Arthur. Was it his imagination, or were they crowding him against the wall? He tapped a finger against side and adjusted the sleeve of his left hand; he couldn’t remember who had the current shift for shadowing him, but he hoped they remembered the signals.

A moment later, Elena was hurrying up to him. She smiled apologetically at the sisters and inclined her head towards Arthur. “Your Majesty, I beg forgiveness for intruding. There is a matter that urgently requires your attention.”

“Very well.” Arthur nodded at Morgana and Morgause. “My apologies, my Ladies.”

“Of course,” said the both of them together. Arthur tried not to look like he was hurrying as he walked away from them.

 

Arthur reached the Knights' table in the cafeteria in time to hear Elyan informing Gwaine, "Of course Arthur is still coming along on patrols. Who else will lead the formation?"

Seeing him, Percival leaned back and easily snagged a chair from an unoccupied table. Arthur noted the way Gwaine's gaze flicked over Percival's broad shoulders and extended arm. The bottom of the chair rattled as it was rolled towards Arthur.

"The House nobles here tend to retire from hazardous duties after they reach a certain political rank. An unmarried Head with no children, like Arthur, might even be banned by his own House from participating in anything more strenuous than Court," said Lancelot to Elena. Turning to Gwaine, he added, "it's a little different in Camelot, you see. Our Court is full of Guards and Knights. When a herd of Afanc attack, the King is expected to be in the front lines."

“It’d be a right carnage if you tried something like that here,” snorted Gwaine. 

 

The Knights didn't even try to be subtle about it. Merlin was mysteriously present at any outing or engagement that Arthur had to be at. Merlin’s ties to House Green would have granted him entrance to anything short of Chamber-At-The-Close, and Gwaine's responsibilities provided adequate motive, but the Knights' unabashed beckoning whenever they spotted him gave well away said the campaign taking place behind Arthur's back.

"It's funny," said Merlin, once Arthur had ascertained that his people had not been making Merlin uncomfortable, "I didn't think they actually liked me, until now."

"Trust me," replied Arthur glumly, "If they _disliked_ you, you would have no doubt about it."

In all fairness, it wasn’t as if either Merlin or Arthur were resisting their transparent efforts. Case in point: Arthur had come out of the Close to find Gwaine in a card game with Percival, while Leon hovered disapprovingly nearby. Merlin looked up at Arthur’s approach. 

Arthur could feel his face settling into a smile, entirely without his permission. 

“Elena tells me that Morgana and Morgause have designs on your virtue,” said Merlin, his tone on the verge of laughter.

Arthur repressed the urge to shudder. “Are they twins? The official files say that they are a few years apart, but the way they speak..." 

A strange look flashed over Merlin's face, gone within the second. "No, they are not twins.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't like them."

Merlin shrugged. "They make me uneasy.” He blinked, and cut Arthur an uncertain look. “Have you heard that Lord Agravaine has died?"

It took Arthur a moment to remember why the name was vaguely familiar. “My mother’s estranged brother?” He felt a pang – as far as he knew, his mother disliked her brother, but Arthur had never even tried to find him.

“Yes. Specialist in nanotechnology. I would say I’m sorry, but I hear he was not a very pleasant character. He’s been living in Gorlois’ estate in the Darkling Woods for a while.” There was something shuttered in Merlin’s gaze. “His death was formally announced a few months ago. Morgause left to do the Days of Mourning.”

Arthur stared ahead. "And they’ve been here since I left last year?"

"Aside from Morgause on the Days, yes.”

"You've been keeping an eye on them, haven't you? Oh, don't give me that face, I know it's your job."

"I don't have a _face_."

"Of course you do, it's that thing between those ridiculous flaps you call ears."

" _Flaps_ -"

Somebody cleared their throat pointedly. Leon gave them both an apologetic smile and said, "You've got dinner with Queen Annis in an hour, Arthur."

 

The talk with Merlin still on his mind, Arthur decided to broach the subject with Annis. "What are your thoughts on the daughters of Gorlois.?"

Annis gave him a sharp look. "Morgana dresses as a noblewoman looking for a suitable husband, but behaves like a young captain with her first command. Morgause is cunning, quietly ruthless, and above all, her sister's protector." One sharply-lined eyebrow arched upwards. "Either of them would eat you alive, my dear, even if the match does make political sense."

Arthur nearly spat out his spiced pumpkin-and-peafish soup. "I didn't- I wasn't asking out of _that_ kind of interest!"

"Good," said Annis with worrying sincerity. "You're not the first to the first to exprsss... curiosity about them." Her pointed look was as good as voicing: _Merlin_. "I will tell you what I told these unnamed others." She shifted in her chair. "Lord Gorlois was a good man, respected and well-loved. His wife, the Lady Vivienne, disliked the dangers and intrigues of Court, so his family lived most of the time on their estate in the Darkling Woods planetoid. I only saw Vivienne and young Morgause a few times, when Morgause was but a babe in arms, and never Morgana until now."

There was a soft _clink_ as Annis placed her spoon on the small plate under her soup bowl. An uneasy expression crossed her face. "Everyone respected the privacy of Gorlois’ family. He was a good friend of your father’s, you know, as well as your mother’s estranged brother, Agravaine; the both of them visited with Gorlois frequently. When Gorlois fell ill and began staying in his estate with his family, Agravaine moved there as well. There were… rumours.” Annis shook her head. “Lady Vivienne never liked him; but he was her husband’s friend. There were never any formal charges, nor obvious evidence, and Lady Vivienne always maintained that she was well treated. Though, of course, there wouldn't have anyone to help her, unless she herself came to Cavalcade."

"She died when their daughters were young, didn't she?" asked Arthur softly.

"Not long after Morgana was born, in fact," said Annis. "Agravaine reported it as an unfortunate accident. He said that she forgot it was the Red-Spine bird's breeding season and went swimming in an open river."

"You don't believe him."

Annis sighed heavily, gaze going distant. It was a full minute or two before she spoke again. "In one of the Lady Vivienne’s visits to the Cavalcade, she told me of her plans to have more children, after Morgause. They'd had a hard time of it, it seemed, and she'd been worried." Seeing the shadow of pain on Annis’ calm face, Arthur belatedly remembered the whispers from when he as a child: of how the Lord and Lady of Caerleon could not bear children. "She’d had many plans for Morgause. Wanted to give her the universe. I especially recall her joking that she would at least make sure they could swim, as it looked enjoyable and she'd never learned the skill."

A pause. "Ah."

The Queen let out a slow breath. "Gorlois and Vivienne died within weeks of one another. I'd worried, at the time, of what would become of the two children of Vivienne. Your father even considered fostering them, you know. Unusual, considering the old laws from the Separation."

Arthur blinked. Uther would not have mentioned such a thing, even in jest, unless he was seriously considering it. Between the Dragon, the old laws, and the sheer difference in ways of living, very few people attempted to travel into or out of Camelot. Though he supposed that children would have an easier time of it. 

He wondered what it would have been like, growing up with sisters.

"Agravaine remained in Darkling, ostensibly to look after Gorlois’ interests. After a few years, his visits to the Cavalcade grew fewer and shorter. The change was slow, at first, but his illness eventually became impossible to conceal. I thought he’d bring Gorlois’ daughters here, at last. But by then Morgause was considered old enough, according to their traditions, to make decisions under their House name and act as guardian to her sister."

Arthur didn’t know much about Agravaine, other than that his mother had disliked the man and her family would have disowned him entirely but for the scandal that would have caused. “What did Lord Agravaine die from?”

“A protracted illness, according to the family physician. He fell into a coma a year ago and never woke again.”

The silence stretched, more contemplative and tense, though there was an undercurrent of questions remaining unasked, suspicions that would never be put into words. 

“I am glad that the sisters have come here, finally,” said Arthur.

Annis nodded. “Yes, as am I.”

 

Arthur was showing Gwen the Markets, walking along one of the connector tubes that had been taken over by the steady outward spread of stalls, when the lights flickered, held valiantly for a few seconds, and then died utterly. Voices called out along the narrow space, mainly people assuring each other that they were unharmed; Arthur was fairly impressed with the absence of any obvious panic.

Arthur heard rather than saw the approaching boot-steps of a Guard who must have been stationed nearby. "Apologies, my Lord. An urgent message has been sent to maintenance staff. They shall be sending someone to fix this, but if you like, I am happy to lead you back to the Halls or the Quarters."

"There's no need to wait for techs, I can see that the lights are still active in the next section, so it's likely a very minor problem," protested Gwen. Before anybody could move, she had dropped down to all fours, long skirt pooling outward around her in ripples of shimmering fabric, and began prying the smooth upper paneling of the floor.

"Where were you even keeping that screwdriver?" asked Elena, a hint of awe in her tone. 

"One thing I learned when I first started out," said Gwen, now down to the level that held the wiring for the lights and non-essential systems, "is that if you have need of something in order to do your job and it isn't available, it then becomes your job to make it yourself. In this particular case: pockets."

Arthur could only stand back and wait patiently while metallic noises and the occasional muttering drifted out of the hole Gwen had just made in the ship's floor. The nearby stall vendors looked more curious than perturbed, at least. 

"Got it!" cried Gwen triumphantly. The dead main lights came back on all down the tubeway, and the yellow emergency lights faded out.

There was a burst of applause. One pair of clapping hands belonged to the bad-tempered Guard from earlier, Arthur was amused to note. Gwen popped back up onto her feet, the careful arrangement of curls on her head now somewhat lop-sided but entirely overshadowed by her beaming smile. 

“Just for that,” he said, beaming at her, “I’m buying you a tool belt.”

 

Gwaine’s sparring skills had improved over the year since Arthur’s last visit. Arthur didn’t hesitate in saying so, the next time they sparred; in the Core’s frighteningly sterile gym, this time, because it had been a long day at Court and neither of them felt like going far. 

“Thank you, sire,” said Gwaine. “I’ve made a point of seeking out trainers in other styles, just to keep things interesting.”

Arthur knew he’d seen a few unusual moves. “Did that come from one of them?” he asked, nodding at a scar down Gwaine’s back, still pink and new.

“Ah, no. Assassination attempt.” Gwaine grinned sheepishly.

Arthur frowned. Obviously they were both all right, but anything that could have reached Gwaine must have made it through Merlin first. “Who was it?”

“Well, finding out was a bit tricky, as neither of the assailants survived. But they were eventually tied back to an old business rival of my father’s.”

Something about Gwaine’s tone reminded Arthur of Gwaine standing in the bridge of Excalibur, speaking of shield malfunctions. “You suspect otherwise?”

“Aye.”

“Merlin?”

“He agrees, though he hasn’t been able to find any evidence for it.” Gwaine scratched at his hair. “You might not want to bring up the incident around Merlin. He’s a bit sensitive about it – he’d say professional embarrassment, but personally I think he’s just jealous of my little battle-wound here. He didn’t get a scratch on him, as usual.”

The _little_ wound started below Gwaine’s left shoulder blade and nearly reached his waist. Now that he’d been reassured no harm had come to Merlin, Arthur could see why he would be embarrassed to have allowed his charge to come to harm. “He didn’t see them coming?”

“He saw the _first_ one,” said Gwaine. “Not that he could have done anything about the second, unless he can split himself into two. I let him wallow in shame for a few days before I gave him a good thump on the head.”

 

Arthur was well familiar with the stretch of space between Cavalcade and the Dragon; as the rich red and gold of the nebula was only visible at a distance, the boundary was generally taken to be the area where the buoys were the most dense. The space on the opposite end of the Cavalcade, perpetually choked by hundreds of ships from over a dozen overlapping trade routes, was less known to him.

He'd always appreciated the irony in how it was the opposite case for anyone else not from Camelot.

"Quadrant's clean," reported Leon.

"Same here," said Elyan. After a beat, he added, "Gwaine said that they haven't sighted a single raider in over two months."

"This should be good," said Elena, "but I can sense from the silent tension over the comm line that this is not good."

"I thought the skirmishes had been escalating," said Lancelot.

"They were, and then a few months after our last visit, the Court ruled that patrol could fire on any raider ships that came within range, instead of waiting to be attacked first." Arthur had read all the patrol and conflict reports from the past year that he could get his hands on.

"Don't blame them, after all the losses," said Percival. "But still. This can't end anywhere good."

"There were fewer skirmishes after that, mostly because raiders usually scarpered once patrols detected their presence. They still did a lot of watching, though, lurking just out of scanning range around the trade routes. Then, two months ago, it's like they all vanished."

“Somehow,” said Arthur grimly, “I suspect we’ve not seen the last of them.”


	9. Chapter 9

The Grande Balle was held every third year, and Arthur thought each one was exponentially worse than the previous. He gritted his teeth through the slow, purposeful descent down the grand staircase, silently working through the breathing exercises that Lancelot was so fond of, while the enormous spotlight did its best to try and blind him. He's not sure he pulled off the politely pleasant smile he'd been aiming for, but Queen Annis only nodded at him when he reached the main floor instead of pushing a drink into his hand, so he mustn't have done too badly.

"Presenting the esteemed Lady Hunith of Ealdor, and her son, His Grace Merlin."

It was doubly fortunate for Arthur not to have been holding a drink, for he would have splashed it all over himself with how quickly he whipped around to look at the stairs.

That- yes, that was _his_ Merlin, escorting a beautiful and stately woman down the overly shiny stairs. Arthur was surprised to realize that he recognized her- from the news streams, from articles on the network. The Lady Hunith was an enthusiastic patron of children's charities. It was known that she had one son, but he was always left unnamed. Her husband was said to have died several years previously. 

It was a good thing he and Merlin were only friends now – if they had ever been more than that, it was still a little unclear in Arthur’s head – otherwise Arthur would be quite _cross_.

“Merlin,” he greeted him, through gritted teeth.

Merlin winced. “All right, this is something I should have told you about.”

“ _Merlin._ ”

“I’m sorry! But why do you think people don’t make a fuss about me being attached to House Green?” said Merlin. “My actual position isn’t common knowledge. But it’s normal for the minor nobility to seek positions in the major Houses.’

Arthur picked up a glass of something from a passing server and downed it in one go. “The politics in this place are ridiculous.”

“It takes some getting used to,” conceded Merlin, placating. “I have to say, though – you’ve seen my Crip. Did it not occur to you that it’s not the sort of thing a commoner would be able to afford?” He made a face. “Not that that is right; everyone ought to have access to good-quality medical supplies and procedures.”

“Some days, I really want to punch you,” sighed Arthur.

 

He was on one of his dinners with Annis when she said, quite out of the blue, "Would you like to see your mother's effects?" 

Arthur stared in incomprehension for a full minute. "My mother's?" he repeated, to make sure he'd heard correctly. "But - I do not understand -"

"I was not sure if you'd been made aware of it," said Annis. "Upon her death, Uther decreed that only the King of Camelot may have access to any of your mother's possessions, either here or in Camelot."

 _And now Arthur was King,_ went unspoken. Arthur could only nod; he was suddenly caught between the yearning to know more about the mother he'd never met, a yearning older than all memory, and trepidation about what he may learn. There was a hint of something in Annis' expression that might be a gentle warning. 

But, for once, duty and desire seemed united, and Arthur could shirk neither. "Show me."

 

He'd expected - a box, maybe, a few pieces of furniture, a handful of electronics that could not be taken to Camelot. 

"What, in all the known galaxy," the clouds of displaced dust sent him into a fit of coughing, "did my mother _do_?"

"What did Uther tell you?" Annis' amused voice drifted over from the doorway.

"That she worked with computers," answered Arthur. He waved an ineffectual hand through the air, and tried not to breathe too deeply. "She designed software."

Annis let out an undignified snort. "She did more than _design_. She wrote code where she couldn't adapt an existing one, and when she felt particularly impatient with the work efficiency of mere mortals, she built the hardware herself. She was a programmer and a mechanic and an engineer."

Arthur peered at a pile of metal and wire stretched across the table nearest to him. Something about the bowl-shaped part at the end seemed familiar. "This looks like a prosthetic."

"She specialized in bio-synthetic interfaces. Before her work, prosthetics were serviceable but extremely limited in mobility and sensory input, and what passed for artificial organ replacement was almost medieval." Annis long skirt whispered over the dusty floor. "She was younger than you are now when she registered her first patent."

It was absurd to feel proud of somebody he never really knew, and decades after the fact. But Arthur had had to be content with having so little of her for so long. He was not surprised that Uther had kept this from him, though he wondered what harm Uther had imagined could come from knowing. The intense disapproval of Arthur spending too much time tinkering with Excalibur suddenly developed new meaning. Had Uther imagined his only son and heir absconding to Cavalcade to follow in his mother's footsteps? 

Arthur had learned his duty before he'd learned his letters. He was proud of it, most days. He thought his father had known. 

"She must have really loved him, to have left all this," said Arthur. He belatedly realized that his tone could be taken, in a particular light, to be doubtful and questioning.

Fortunately, Annis was kind enough to ignore the implications, answering the words at face value. "I believe she did. Though I think she also saw the Dragon as a challenge, which she was determined to defeat. She was never much for ships, after all, and yet the first time she visited after her marriage to your father, she pulled an old survey ship out of the scrapyard and took it with her, out of which she built Excalibur."

Arthur blinked. "I - I knew it was hers, but I thought she mainly worked on the software, on the coding, and the ship itself had been commissioned."

"No, I saw the ship, it was more or less an empty metal shell," said Annis. "Which was probably the only reason Uther allowed her to take it home." She chuckled. "He likely expected her to get bored with the project."

Arthur thought of a ship that cradled him in his sleep; an AI that survived on a world where few other technologies could; the voice that always met him after the silent dark.

 

He received the summons upon reaching his suite after a long day at Court. He’d been considering a light dinner and an early night; now shot off a quick message to the Knights, took a quick shower, and was out his door again. 

There was usually a different energy around newly arrived flagships, compared to the ships that had been entrenched in the city for years. Shuttles and maintenance pods zipped busily around the _Ealdor_ , making repairs and replenishing supplies and ferrying any number of city officials. Arthur and a groggy-looking Percival waited in their tiny shuttle for several minutes while their request for entry was processed. 

When the light on the comm console turned green, the shuttle sped forward and attached itself to the nearest available airlock. They had a longer wait in a comfortable antechamber; by that point Arthur could no longer suppress his nerves. He kept bouncing his knee, and stopping, only to start again when he became distracted. It was unusual enough that Percival was glancing at him worriedly.

Finally, one of the doors opened, admitting the one who’d asked to see Arthur.

Arthur tried not to look as nervous as he felt. "Lady Hunith."

"King Arthur." Lady Hunith bowed, graceful, then gestured for him to step closer. He did so, and tried to keep still as she ran an assessing gaze over him; he tried not to be too obvious in inspecting her in turn. In her delicate dress and tasteful jewels, it was hard to imagine even half of the things it was said she'd done. She gestured towards the door; Arthur signaled for Percival to remain in the room and offered her his arm; the hand that came to rest on his skin had calluses on the palm and fingers, faint scarring around the thumb. She gripped him properly, securely, like one warrior anchoring another. "I'm more comfortable on my feet, I'm afraid. Used to the busy life."

"I can certainly understand that," said Arthur.

“I am very sorry to hear about your father.” Her fingers squeezed his arm for a moment, comforting. “I didn’t know him well, but he was much respected.”

“Thank you.”

“My son is quite taken with you, I understand.”

Years of training were all that kept Arthur from stumbling over his own feet. “Ah. He… speaks of me?”

She smiled. She had a kind smile, Arthur thought. He would appreciate it a lot more if the topic didn’t make him want to squirm in his boots. “Not as such. Once, you could read every emotion on his face, but he has since learned to be much subtler. A shame, I’ve always thought. I am still his mother, though; I can read him quite well.” She paused. “He doesn’t need much looking after now, he’s made sure of that. Nevertheless. You will take care of him, won’t you?”

“With my life,” said Arthur immediately, the words escaping before he could properly consider them.

“Excellent. I am glad to have had this talk.” She beamed up at him, and Arthur had the sinking feeling that she’d learned more about him than he’d intended her to know. She hardly gave him time to worry about it, though; she readily changed the directions, tugging Arthur along since she still had his arm, and they were heading back the way they came. “If you’d like, you may escort me to the hospital; I am going to visit Gaius.”

“Of course,” said Arthur automatically, then, all sense of tact forgotten, “Are you ill?”

“Hmm? Yes, I am perfectly well.” She waved her free hand dismissively. “Oh, didn’t Merlin tell you? Gaius is my brother.”

 

Arthur relayed the entire incident to Excalibur that night, in between replacing the emergency kits in the bridge for newer ones. He remembered well the last time Gwen caught him with expired supplies. 

“It is good that your courtship has progressed to this stage,” said Excalibur.

Surprise and outrage had Arthur banging his head against a low-hanging console. “Court- we are not courting!”

“The two of you have certainly been making the process more difficult than it ought to be.”

Arthur spluttered. “You’ve been talking to Elyan, haven’t you? Or Gwaine – I knew I shouldn’t have told him about you.”

“If you wish, I can subject Merlin to a number of personal and mildly invasive questions the next time he visits.”

The prospect of reciprocity _did_ make Arthur feel better. “I guess I should be thankful that you seem to approve of him.” 

“The two of you are very compatible.” After a pause, Excalibur added, “I can feel his presence.”

Arthur blinked. “What do you mean?”

Excalibur was quiet for a few moments, the central comp humming as if she was trying to work out an equation. “It is curious. He has no heart-rate, which is my primary means of tracking individuals on board. And yet, his proximity affects you physiologically; his presence makes your heart beat faster. And I am attuned to you.”

He checked that the kit was secure and dropped down to sit on the pilot-chair. “It’s not – it can’t _be_ anything, ‘Scali. I am King; my duty is to marry to Camelot’s advantage and to produce heirs.”

She did not reply. It was a sorry state of affairs, Arthur thought, when his own ship didn’t believe him.

 

The next time he was at the hospital, undergoing a regular check-up, Arthur happened to be in the waiting room while Gaius was filling out some forms and remembered to ask, "Did you ever know my father, Gaius?"

"Quite well, at one point," answered the physician without looking up from his work. "He asked me to consider relocating to Camelot, a year or two before you were born. Coming from Ealdor, I was well-trained in practicing medicine with limited technology."

"Why did you decline?" asked Arthur.

Gaius gave him the eyebrow. "Merlin," he said, as if it were obvious. 

 

"Oh! I'm so sorry, I should be more careful with these things."

It took Arthur a full minute to register the frozen stiffness of Merlin's body beside him, and connect it with Gwen's frantic fussing, the wire-cutter still clutched in her hand. He whipped his head around just as Gwen seemed to realize what, exactly, she was looking at. To her credit, the shocked staring lasted only a moment, and then she was blushing and looking Merlin in the eye anxiously.

"I didn't mean to stare!" she squeaked. "It just caught me by surprise. Um. Sorry again! Am I hurting you?"

Merlin blinked at her and, unexpectedly, glanced at Arthur. "It's all right. And it's only a cut, it doesn't hurt any more than it would for you." He gently took the handkerchief she'd been pressing against his wound. It was a tiny thing, really, only a little deeper than a scratch. 

Entirely unremarkable, but for the fluid that now welled from it: not iron-based red, but clear and nearly colorless. Synthetic blood.

Gwen didn't look entirely placated, and she frowned at the cut. She rummaged around the new toolbelt that Arthur had bought her, pulled out a tube and a small plaster. "May I?"

"She's forever patching Elyan up," explained Arthur, because Merlin was staring at Gwen carefully applying the antibiotic cream like he wasn't entirely sure she was real. Arthur could relate. 

"And if it's not my brother, it's you, my good King," said Gwen drily. The plaster looked like a large brown freckle on Merlin's arm. "Are you certain you are all right?"

"Yes, very certain." Merlin seemed to snap back into himself; his training finally kicking in, Arthur surmised. Merlin took both of Gwen's hands in his and pressed a light kiss on the back of each. "Thank you for your care, my Lady."

Gwen beamed up at him. 

They made a nauseatingly adorable pair, Arthur realized.

He belatedly remembered who was on duty today, and took a couple of steps backwards to stand next to said guard. "Aren't you going to do anything?" he asked Lancelot.

Lancelot merely shrugged. "If I did not trust Gwen's honor, I would be unworthy of her." He gave Arthur a confused look. "Besides, it's Merlin."

Arthur frowned. "What does that mean?"

Their attention was drawn back to the other pair: Gwen was listening intently while Merlin explained something complicated and technical-sounding, gesturing at his chest a lot.

"Gwen was very nervous about coming here," said Lancelot. "I'm glad she'll have at least one friend to keep her company when we are on duty. We must treat Merlin to dinner." Now Lancelot was smiling in the soppy way that Arthur knew, from past experience, meant he would not be getting his Knight's attention for at least ten minutes.

 

“Oh, you’re early,” said Merlin, walking into the _Ealdor_ ’s waiting room. “Come on, I just have to speak to a contact.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure if Merlin was still living in House Green’s flagship or had moved back to his mother’s. It made sense that Merlin would be more comfortable using the long-range comm system of the _Ealdor_ , though.

Merlin's 'contact' turned out to be a beautiful, sharp-eyed woman with rich red hair. Arthur felt a brief spark of something he resolutely refused to consider _jealousy_. But the woman's perfunctory nod at Merlin was all polite professionalism.

"Romanova," said Merlin.

"Emrys. Who's your friend?" She made a show of directing her gaze to Merlin's side; but Arthur had no doubt that she'd noted his presence the moment the visual feed began, and also that she knew exactly who he was.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Romanova, this is Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. Arthur, this is Natasha Romanova. "

"Unlike my humble self, the Black Widow needs no introduction." Arthur bowed at the screen. "Honoured to make your acquaintance, my Lady." Then he blinked and stared at Merlin. “Wait. _Emrys_?”

A small smile appeared on her face. Arthur suspected that it was rare for anyone to be graced with that much, from the way Merlin was all but gaping at the screen. "I _like_ this one, Emrys," said Agent Romanoff. "How do you always manage to find the chivalrous, well-mannered ones?"

"They take one look at my waifish figure and decide that I need to be protected," said Merlin dryly. 

"I won't pretend it didn't work on me - but only until the first time I saw you fight," admitted Romanova."After that, I knew you are a wily, wily one."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. " _'Will you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly'_.”

Romanova shrugged, her eyes shining with amusement. "And what does my Lord Fly wish to know today?"

"Does the name ‘Gormause’ mean anything to you?” asked Merlin.

“No. Probably local.”

“I was afraid of that.” Merlin sighed. “Let me know if you catch anything in the breeze.”

“Of course.”

Merlin cut the comm line and rubbed a hand over his face. He smiled sheepishly at Arthur. “I’m not supposed to tell you about Emrys, either, you know. Especially since Cenred, or someone connected to him, seems to be trying to find out who Emrys is. But.” Merlin shrugged. 

He looked tired, Arthur realized. It dawned on him that he didn’t really know what Merlin _did_ , not really. Other than throw himself in front of danger and frustrate Arthur to no end. He wanted to punch him, for constantly pulling the rug under Arthur and never being quite what Arthur expected him to be; he want to kiss him, for being sorry for deceiving Arthur and yet never apologizing for the job he had to do.

It occurred to Arthur that part of the reason he kept being drawn to Merlin might be because Merlin _drove him crazy_. Which, possibly, said more about Arthur than it did about Merlin.

 

Arthur brought Merlin the next time he visited his mother’s old workshop. He stilled at the entrance, looking around. "Someone's been here."

Merlin instantly tensed, as if expecting the intruder to be lying in wait for them. Arthur remembered the scar on Gwaine’s back, and thought it wasn’t an entirely unreasonable reaction. "How can you tell?"

Instead of answering him, Arthur headed directly for one of the storage cases at the back of the room. He rummaged for a moment and drew out a plain wooden box. He opened it, revealing faded red velvet lining and nothing else.

"There was a necklace here," said Arthur, staring down at the box in shock. "It used to belong to my mother."

A long call to the Guard Tower got him the assurance that security cameras recorded nobody entering the room since Arthur’s previous visit, though there was a strange ‘glitch’ that took down three cameras for five minutes. Arthur realized that there was, likely, no way to track down the necklace, short of searching every inch of the city.

Merlin took one look at him and vanished for several minutes, then came back with a bottle of amber liquid and gently guided Arthur back towards the Core. Arthur didn’t know when their hands found each other, but he didn’t have it in him to pull away. At first, he thought Merlin was taking him to the Core’s maintenance decks. But Merlin took a different turn and Arthur realized they were heading for the hangar, and he thought: how did he know? 

"I wonder, sometimes, if my mother would have liked me," admitted Arthur, after half a bottle of something very alcoholic. "I think it was easier, back when I knew so little of her. But now, having read through her journals and plans and notes... she was brilliant. The things she thought of, the things she could do - how could I compete with any of that?"

Merlin rested his head on Arthur's shoulder, the press of their bodies bringing a comforting warmth. "It's hard to know, when neither of us have met her. But, for what it's worth - and admittedly, I may be somewhat biased - I find it rather impossible to imagine a mother not being proud to have you for a son."

Behind them, Excalibur beeped comfortingly; one wing thruster flickered to life, at the lowest setting, and the soft whirring of a fan could be heard before a cloud of warm air was propelled over to them, better than a blanket against the space night's chill.


	10. Chapter 10

It was the old dream. 

It'd been years since he'd had it. The last time had been the night of his father's funeral. Balinor had been, and remained, one of the best men Merlin knew, and a father much beloved; it had seemed right that his death would change the fabric of the world, steal away some of its illusion of safety. 

And now - now, standing in the middle of a long hallway formed by old stone walls, he turned his head, as he always did, and saw, out of the corner of one eye, the very tip of a very red cloak disappearing around a far corner.

Now, he knew what it was. Or rather, _whose_ it was. And where, maybe, this place could be.

In the past, he'd done everything he could think: followed the cloak, ran the other way, slammed his fists against the walls. But there was a limited number of options in the non-descript corridor. Going the direction that the cloak had disappeared into would bring him to a second, fairly short corridor, with two locked doors at the end. The other way eventually curved around a corner, only to end abruptly with a wall that had a large window set in it. There was never anything to see through the window but bright light, and it felt as indestructible as the stone walls. 

This time, harboring a fanciful thought that new knowledge might change old dreams, he took after the cloak with barely a moment's hesitation. 'Round the corner, as always, a name held at the edge of being voiced, and-

an empty corridor stretched out in front of him, _as always_ , and at the very end, two doors facing each other. One on the right and one on the left. The rush of frustrated helplessness left him reeling, almost nauseated, even as his dream-body tried the doors' handles out of habit. Both were undoubtedly locked, the handles turning exactly as far as they always had and no further. He caressed the handle of the second door he'd tried, the door on the right; he hadn't exactly forgotten the curious shape and nature of it, a crescent moon in cut crystal. The other door had an identical handle. He'd long wondered if there was some meaning behind it, but no amount of searching the histories or trawling the 'Net yielded any definitive results. 

Perhaps, like the cloak-tip, this one would become clear to him one day-

There was something different.

He wasn't sure what he'd noticed, at first. He tried to stand very still, tried to examine all the details his dream-senses had picked up. 

Everything looked the same, everything felt the same. There was no sound but that which came from him. Taste was highly unlikely, which left... yes, there was something, the faintest hint, unremarkable in any other place but here, where time seemed frozen in one specific moment. Merlin had heard that one was not supposed to smell things in dreams.

But he was beginning to suspect that this was not - and had never been - entirely a dream.

He closed his eyes. And breathed deep.

Decay.

He placed his hands on the door. Oak, aged and polished and painted. It felt as solid as ever, and when he opened his eyes, it looked the way it always had.

Only, as he watched, the scent of decay grew stronger, and dark streaks appeared around the edges of the door. He heard a faint creaking, of aging joints and aging hinges and aging _wood_. Hairline splits scored the surface, following the grain. Natural time strengthened oak for a little while and then gracefully degraded it; this one was being battered before Merlin's very eyes. The door seemed to be fighting back, though. The core of it remained immovable, steadfast in its purpose, even as its edges were warped and sapped.

 

"You've been very distracted of late," said Gwaine, with a casualness that always left everyone who knew him worrying. "I know you said that you and Himself are all right, but if you want me to give him a bit of grief the next time we spar, I'd be more than happy to."

"No," sighed Merlin, "it's nothing - well, nothing to do with him."

Gwaine squinted at him, but seemed to accept his word. "Probably for the best. I won't get much enjoyment out of it, anyway - the pining bastard will just _let_ me do it."

Despite himself, Merlin laughed. "How do you know he's pining?"

"Anybody with functioning eyesight knows he's pining. Also, Percival swears on it."

Merlin cast a sly look at his friend. "How's that going, anyway?"

"Good, actually. Unexpectedly." Gwaine smiled at him, abruptly - and damn, it wasn't even his usual smarmy one, or the aimed-to-charm one. He was genuinely pleased, and serious enough to let Merlin see it, and now if Merlin tried to brush off his friend's concern he would be left feeling guilty.

 _Damn._ Somewhere in the back of his mind, a metaphorical figure that bore a suspicious resemblance to Director Fury gave a grudging thumbs-up.

"There's something wrong," admitted Merlin. "Something is about to happen, or it's already happening – and we are not prepared for it."

 

The summons, in hindsight, should not have been much of a surprise. Annis had not gotten to where she was without having uncommonly good sense and sensitivity to the subtle eddies of events, the hidden move-and-counter of politics. She was a cautious player, leaning on her natural instinct for strategy; Merlin had observed, over the years, that by the time her peers sensed any potential for trouble, she already held several contingency plans in hand. Case in point: he’d gone to the meeting assuming she wished to speak to him about Gwaine.

"Your Majesty," said Merlin with a bow.

She turned to look at him. Her dress was a simple brown single-piece with full skirts, such as a common woman might wear, or Merlin’s mother when she was not in the Cavalcade. The dress was well cared-for but old; could it be a relic from Annis’ humble beginnings? It seemed impossible, when Court garments were always discarded after a handful of years. 

_The poor don't throw away anything that might be useful, my dear_ , came his mother's voice in his head.

He could appreciate the symbolism, at least. It was the plainest way of saying: _I meet you with no artifice._

"Your Majesty requested my presence?" said Merlin.

"I did," she said, pausing; then, “I wished to thank you in person for all the work that you have done, for me.”

Ah. No point asking how she'd found out. The only point of contact between the reigning King or Queen and the active Emrys was a special messaging console, keyed by the Guild of Servants to be usable only by said ruler. Past rulers had shown varying attitudes towards those in his position, from those who ignored its existence to those who'd driven themselves to distraction finding out who held it; he hadn't thought her to be the type to concern herself with such knowledge, beyond the having of it.

Which meant that she had a purpose for alerting him.

“It is curious,” she said. “The way the Emrys comp process works. I’ve asked several skilled specialists to try and trace the data stream, but apparently it’s impossible because there’s a very thorough masking protocol imbedded right into the city’s central processes. It is as if the entire city has been set up to hide the identity of Emrys.”

“I suspect that such is the case,” said Merlin. “The House of Emrys was one of the original High Court – had a hand in building a lot of the city.”

Merlin had seen some of the texts still kept by the Guild of Servants – formerly House _ and the Guild of Shield – and one of the predecessors of his position had written, somewhat poetically, that the first Emrys might have been the city itself, and the High Seat was meant remember that person on the other side of the communications could be anyone in the city, nameless and ever-present. 

“You are sure that this Gormause is the one we suspect?” 

“As close to certain as I can be,” said Merlin. “Also, as pseudonyms go, it’s somewhat lacking in creativity.”

Annis sighed. A distant pleasure-cruiser passed by, colors flashing bright enough that Merlin could make out silhouettes on the dance decks. A drifting spotlight caught Annis’ face, brought out the lines of tiredness and care. “Perhaps it only had to conceal her for just long enough.” 

A quiet chill slid through Merlin. 

“Any leads yet on what it is they’re looking for?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty,” said Merlin apologetically.

“It makes me nervous; I am unaccustomed to letting turncoats rummage through my house without even knowing what they’re after.” She paused. “You might be interested in learning that they have asked me outright. About Emrys.”

“Oh?’ said Merlin, wondering if he should be concerned.

“Morgana, specifically.”

“Ah.” Merlin shifted. “I’ve noticed that they’ve exhibited a great deal more interest in the lower decks of the _Dragon’s Egg_ ever since you planted that petition to refurbish the mothership’s old Heart for civic events.”

“I only specified the deck numbers during Chamber-At-The-Close,” said Annis, “which confirms that they have a fellow conspirator amongst the Court-”

“Which we already suspected.”

“-and what they’re looking for involves the Heart.”

Merlin frowned. “That’s the part I don’t understand. Most of the Heart’s contents are accessible to the general public; not only that, but the data is _ancient_. Even the starcharts are outdated.”

The Queen was quiet for a long moment.

"Have you ever wondered why we call it _the_ Cavalcade?" asked Annis. "Oh, the colloquial mode is 'Cavalcade', but in any form of official address, it must be _the_ Cavalcade."

Merlin had, in fact. “Because it was – it wasn’t a Fleet, not a proper one. It was a collection of ships trying to escape a large war, agreeing to combine their strengths for greater protection.”

“ _A nation built by refugees_ ,” quoted Annis. “This has the sound of a familiar topic. Lady Hunith?”

Merlin nodded. It was his mother’s favorite phrase from the Histories. He remembered being eight years old and resentful of her long absences. “It took me a while to understand the sense of… duty, I suppose, that she feels.”

“And now you are Emrys.”

Not by choice, he wanted to protest. But she would not know the tradition: the invisible, silent vote within the House of Servants; the necklace that had shown up in his pocket one morning. Every Servant could cast one vote, for anyone at all whom they thought suitable for the role, who would safeguard the interests of the city and protect the High Seat should the Guards and the Servants fail. One might expect the Servants to vote for one of their own, but half the Emrys names on record belonged to people outside the Guild.

“Every child in the city knows how we came to be here,” continued Annis. “But nothing I’ve found so far has properly explained _why_.”

“Your Majesty?” asked Merlin, confused.

She waved at the dark expanse of space in front of her. “We were fleeing from a war – that is easy enough to understand. But why did we come _here_? This part of the Albion cluster is empty, and light-years away from the nearest habitable star systems. I’ve looked at the route that the fleet took from Essetir space – the fleet passed the systems that later became Ismere, Ascetir, and Feorre. They could have settled on any one of those worlds, or broke apart into their original factions and divided the region. And yet, they came here, where there is _nothing_ but empty space.”

“Except for the Dragon,” said Merlin, eyes widening. 

“Yes.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “There is, also, the name.”

“The Cavalcade?” His eyes widened. “It’s not a name – it’s a description. And they did not end up here by accident; the cavalcade was _heading_ for the Dragon.” He seemed to have hit the revelation she’d been urging him towards; she was nodding encouragingly. “But why?”

She resumed her contemplation of the view. “Do you know why they call it the Valley of the Fallen Kings?”

“In honor of the countless dead who tried to pass through the Dragon.”

“Arthur once told me that you can see the remains of dead ships while travelling through the Valley. They present an additional danger, as the measures required by the passage leave the ships only extremely limited maneuverability.”

Merlin shuddered.

“I do not know why the Cavalcade sought the Dragon. So much has been lost since; even the Histories provide only a superficial account of those days. Perhaps, by the time of the Separation, House Pendragon was the only one who remembered why the risk of a passage through the Dragon was worth taking.” Annis breathed out slowly.

 

“If I may, Your Majesty,” Merlin hesitated, “why did you ask to speak with me? You could have told me any of this through the comms.”

“The comms are… impersonal. It feels as though all the decisions I’ve had to make, of late, had been hard ones, and I needed to remind myself that statistics represent real people, that my choices impacts lives; that there is a person on the other side of the reports on my Emrys-console.”

Merlin cleared his throat. “ _‘All know it as The House That Is Not, from the well-known speech by Ashkanar, yet conveniently ignore the second part, which states: for let there be no division of blood or station or creed, nor of ability or expression, that bars a life from this roof, this shelter without shade; the City is within this House, and this House is the City.’_ ”

His words made her smile, which seemed to surprise them both. “Dumais? I’ve often wished more people read her work, but this city doesn’t appreciate its archivists as well as it should.” She narrowed her eyes. “It did not occur to me, until I heard your voice just then, that she could have been Emrys herself. A failure of imagination, on my part.”

“What was in my voice?” asked Merlin.

“Nothing overt – you are proud of your position, that’s all. As you ought to be: you’re very good at it. As I said – I needed to remember that Emrys is not a program or a myth, that Emrys is a person.”

“Emrys is the City,” said Merlin, not sure if he was agreeing or disagreeing.

“Yes. Exactly.”

Merlin suspected that they were not entirely on the same page, but there was a final-sounding note in Annis’ voice, and she was inclining her head, a clear dismissal; he bowed, and left.

 

Later, the survivors would remember: the end began in silence.

 

Merlin had meant to go to sleep. He had. But the dream that had been plaguing him for weeks now felt like a physical presence, hovering in wait, lurking just behind his eyelids. He found himself sitting in his room, in his family's flagship, his childhood things surrounding him; staring out of the large window that took up half of one wall. He had no awareness of the passage of time, no count of the hours he spent there. Impossible wishes ranged along the periphery, sensing weakness: that the thing pushing his blood through his body was made of flesh and nerves; that his father had understood what it meant to marry into a wealthy House and hired a Servant, or at least a Guard; that Arthur was somebody Merlin could have.

Thus awake, and looking - Merlin saw the first explosion.

He activated the alarm even as he pulled on his regular clothes, shouting commands and strings of IDs to the home compad. At that point, it could have been an accident; such things were not uncommon, though the damage was rarely as severe enough to involve pyrotechnics. 

When the compad screen flashed red and yet the city-wide sirens remained silent, however, he knew. 

His mother did not look surprised to run into him in the hallway. She'd only thrown on her dressing gown. Her personal compad was in her hand, emitting an unpleasant whine along with the flashing light. Having lived in as many disaster camps and war zones as she had, all her equipment came with fail-safes and back-up alert systems. 

The tension from _waiting_ was gone, but what was to come after might be more than he'd imagined; he told himself this was the only reason his hands were shaking slightly.

"Let me know?" she asked him quietly. That was one advantage of having the family he did: they knew better than to indulge in unnecessary fuss during emergencies.

"If I can," promised Merlin.

 

The Guard Tower was in utter disarray. Guards ran in every direction, House colors mixing with the generic grey. No one spared him a second look. The control room was packed with bodies, mostly city leaders and officers of varying ranks and at least half the Court. Merlin looked over the faces present and mentally called up the most recent chart of hierarchy. 

At the center of the room, an enormous nav projection rotated gently in mid-air: a to-scale holographic model of the city. Numerous vessels along the outer fringes were blinking red, reporting damage, while others were dim, nearly invisible but for faint outlines, indicating complete loss of signal. As Merlin watched, two more went from red to dim, and one bypassed the red entirely, going dark in a blink.

There was, unsurprisingly, a great deal of loud arguing going on. The Queen was there, but the High Seat could not also command the Guard; the Baton was in Lord Green’s hand. Both of them were standing on a raised circular platform below the nav projection. 

"-have deployed a quarter of the Guard. One hangar was destroyed, the other lasted until most of the Guards could fly out. Hangars One to Four are close enough to the Core that it will be a while until the raiders touch them.” Lord Green paused only long enough for a breath; his posture did not so much as waver. Several compad screens flitted around him at waist height. Every time he dismissed one, at least three more were spat out by the secondary emitters below the platform. "It's been confirmed: the shields are down. The raiders seem intent on destroying the city, section by section."

Merlin spotted Arthur near the front, staring at the nav projection. He wondered what Arthur had been doing, when he got the summons: he didn't look like he'd been asleep.

"Your Majesty, my Lord." Communications Officer Mordred stood up from his wall console. "You need to see this. It's a live video feed from the _Fortress_." A recreational hall in one of the outermost areas of the city, supplied Merlin's memory. The nav projection was minimized to a small icon near the central emitter, and in its place appeared a circular compad screen containing four windows, each facing a different direction, so that all in the room could see. The same stream was on all four windows, and a red spinning circle in one corner indicated it was live. 

It occurred to Merlin that the visuals would not have been out of place in one of the popular action films. He wished that they were, indeed, watching one of the entertainment streams. A powerful explosion somewhere caused the Guard Tower to shiver; it was echoed by actual, crashing noises in the video. 

At first, all that could be seen was smoke, a floor littered with soot and no small amount of debris. Then two women walked into view - the Ladies Morgause and Morgana. Merlin thought, _hostages_ , but they looked excited rather than cowed, looking at each other at the exact same time and casting eerily similar smiles. Merlin's gaze dipped down briefly to Annis; her face was unreadable, though even Lord Green looked surprised.

"What is the meaning of this, Morgause?" demanded a gruff voice. A man stumbled after them, looking somewhat wild around the eyes. King Cenred. "Why are you blowing up the city? These ships are worth a fortune. I'm sure the Court and the Queen are convinced of our advantage at this point."

"Oh, Cenred, " sighed Morgause. "Trade-ship raider, pirate of _merchants_. Do you still believe that you can be King, when you've let a greater power stand behind your High Seat?"

Cenred stared at her, and then at Morgana. "Is this a coup? How _dare_ you!"

"It is already done," said Morgana. "Seize him."

Three men darted in; two of them held Cenred's arms, and the third stood close, ready with a sword. 

"What the- Jarl, you don’t surprise me at all. But Tirr, we've known each other since childhood!" shouted Cenred.

The one with the blade, presumably Tal, didn't respond. Morgana drifted closer and patted Tirr's arm. "If it is any consolation, they were not all won by greed and fear. Tirr here held out the longest; his loyalty was quite admirable." She gestured towards the side; someone passed her a glass jar, the lid of which she removed carefully. The distance of the camera and the questionable quality of the transmission made it difficult to be sure, but –

The small, many-headed _thing_ was undulating in an unmistakable way. Someone in the control tower whispered, "is that a snake?"

"This is a Fomorroh. When placed inside someone's neck, it overcomes the host’s will and force them to obey the summoner’s command, which they will stop at nothing to carry out."

"It is almost time, sister," said Morgause.

Merlin inhaled sharply. Cenred continued shouting protests, shouting "Traitors!" and all manner of abuse at his grim-faced followers; Cenred could not see his own fate in Morgana's eyes the way Merlin could. There was a purpose to this. Ostentatious, yes, absolutely a display put on for the benefit of their Cavalcade audience - but not for ransom, or some sort of proof.

This was a public execution.

He had to lock down the urge to look away from the screen. A table was brought in - was it made out of _stone_? - carried by half a dozen of Cenred's people. Or, so Merlin had initially assumed; then he realized that one of the men looked painfully familiar. Ruadan, the father of Sefa, one of Annis’ attendants. Of course, he thought - the sisters had had a year in the Cavalcade. They clearly hadn't been idle.

It happened quickly. The table was set down, and Cenred was forced to lie on it. He was struggling in earnest now. Once or twice he nearly shook off the grip of his captors; then Tirr wrapped a meaty hand around Cenred's throat, cutting off his air. Merlin was so focus, horrified, at the way Cenred quickly lost strength, the choked sounds that must be coming from his mouth not audible over the vid feed, that he didn't notice the knife in Morgana's hand until Morgana began chanting. 

The words were familiar, in a way, though most of Merlin was screaming _cult! cult!_ and, growing stronger, _wrongwrongwrong_. He thought he could hear thunder in the distance, buried in the clap of decks collapsing and the blast of explosive flames.

Morgana raised the knife. Cenred slumped back, head lolling but body still quivering with effort; defiant to the last. The knife came down.

Sharp, suffocating ice tore straight through Merlin - darkness shaped like a blade. It tore something, something deep; he thought it was his Crip shorting out, but the familiar hum was still there. Merlin had looked out at the blackness of space all his life, and this was colder than that, darker and emptier and _older_.

Before the room gave up spinning and the darkness overcame him, Merlin saw a lonely, stooped shape in the corner of his vision. Somehow he knew, though he could not see her face, that her eyes were the saddest eyes he'd ever seen.


	11. Chapter 11

When Merlin came to, there were strong arms wrapped around him, and Arthur's voice right in his ears, alternating between swearing profusely at his delicate constitution and demanding worriedly why his body felt like ice. He was, surprisingly, still standing; Arthur had braced them both against the wall. Percival was partially in front of Merlin, blocking them from view, though Merlin was fairly sure people had more things to worry about than individuals with inconvenient bouts of unconsciousness. A quick glance around the control room showed that Merlin was not the only one to succumb so.

“What happened?” he mumbled.

“I was about to ask you that,” said Arthur.

“Then I have no idea.” Merlin winced. “Where is all the screaming coming from?”

A pause. “There’s no screaming, Merlin,” said Leon. “If anything, it’s worryingly quiet.” He had a good point. There was a low murmur of conversation around the room, but it felt hushed, as if nobody dared to speak too loudly.

“Unnatural, it is,” said Elena. “In Camelot, there’s a racket when someone so much as throws a rock in the wrong direction.”

"I'm fine, I'm fine," muttered Merlin. He ignored the ashy taste in his mouth. "Let me up?"

"Are you sure?" asked Arthur, though he let Merlin go easily enough, keeping only a hand on his waist until he stopped wobbling quite so obviously. 

"Should we get you to the hospital?" asked Percival.

"Definitely not," said Merlin. "The hospital and all the clinics will be flooded by now. Don't worry, it wasn't anything."

He ascertained that the comm link had gone shaky and noisome the moment Cenred died. It hung on for several seconds, though strange lights and ghostly images showed up on the stream, then dissolved into electronic chaos before cutting out completely.

"It's a lot like what happens to recording equipment on Camelot," noted Leon.

"Were we able to send out a distress signal?" Annis was asking.

"We've been trying, but long-range comms went down even before the shields did."

"They've been shooting down any ships that tried to leave since the attack begun. If they were any kind of tacticians, they would have stationed ships along the trade route to take care of anybody coming in or out."

"The sisters don't seem to be well-versed in battle tactics," said Lord Green doubtfully.

"No, but Cenred is," said Annis. She frowned. "Was."

"Comm line is back!" shouted Mordred. "They're transmitting again."

"Show us," said Annis.

The camera was still pointed in the same place, but the table had been moved. A small trickle of blood led off screen. "The Cavalcade is ours," said Morgana without preamble, speaking directly to the camera. "There is nowhere to run. This is but a small part of what we can do, what we are willing to do. If you surrender, Queen Annis, we may let you live."

"And what of my people?" came Annis' voice through the stream. Nearly every head in the room turned about; evidently no one had noticed her leaving the central platform. But she was still in the control room: leaning into Mordred's communications station to speak into the mic. 

Morgause and Morgana looked pleased to receive a response. "They matter not to us," said Morgana flippantly. "Perhaps we will let them take their chances in deep space."

The flagships might be able to survive long enough for help from other fleets or colonies to arrive, if they were not damaged, but many of the smaller vessels wouldn't. Much of the Cavalcade's ships were built to be part of the city, not for deep space travel. Annis' face was grim when she asked, "How can I know that you won't just kill them?"

Morgause smiled. "You cannot. Make no mistake - we _will_ capture you, Annis of Caerleon. But we only need you alive, not necessarily in one piece, and we certainly do not need anybody else alive. The board is already ours - the only question is how gently we will treat you once we have you."

"Oh, my dear," said Annis, "I have been playing this game since before you were born. I suppose chess allegories are as appropriate as anything. You see, child, you captured and defeated Cenred, and think yourself a gamemaster. But might I remind you that his piece is a King - whereas I am a _Queen_."

She nodded at Mordred, who cut both the comm line entirely.

There was a long, stunned silence, and then everyone began to talk at once. 

Annis let the discussions roar on for several minutes, before clearing her throat. The sudden silence was almost funny, if the fear in the room wasn't so thick that Merlin thought it would consume all the air, choke them all before Morgause and Morgana could get to them. Annis held her hands out. "The most immediate issue is the demand for my surrender. The old law states that such decisions are to be made by the High Court. House Caerleon recuses its vote, on grounds of personal bias. What say the rest?"

There was an extended moment of stunned silence. The shock in the air was palpable. Every child in the Cavalcade was taught the old laws, from the time when they were a refugee fleet traveling through unknown, occasionally hostile territory. Merlin was fairly sure none of them ever expected to see the old laws invoked; none of them would have blamed Annis for ignoring the old laws.

"No surrender," said Lord Green.

"No surrender," said Guildmaster Halig.

Down the line it went. The Court carefully ignored the absences amongst their number; the silence as good as a banishment. While it was possible that the missing individuals were amongst the casualties from the raiders' initial attacks, so far the only vessels destroyed had been on the outermost fringe of the city, the province of the underprivileged; nobles rarely ever left the central sections of the city, and not at this hour of ship's night.

A few timorous voices squeaked out "Surrender!" but the majority echoed Lord Green.

Annis bowed her head. "Honour upon the High Court." Her voice did not shake at all.

She stepped down from the central platform and was immediately swarmed by Tower staff and her House attendants and ranking Guard-captains, all of whom immediately gave way to Lord Green when he marched close.

"The amazing thing is," said Arthur, "she would have done it." Merlin hadn't even noticed him approaching.

"I know," said Merlin.

The control room went quiet when Annis returned to the platform. "Tell the people." Annis took a deep breath. "Tell the people that we are evacuating to a safe place, if they will come; or they may choose to take their chances in open space." There was a smattering of voiced protests.

Annis waved them quiet. "Do not broadcast the evacuation order over any open comms. Send an encrypted message to every vessel, every flagship. Send out the Guards to inform the rest. I know that this may be a useless measure. Morgause and Morgana have been living here for over a year, and I'm sure you recognize some of the individuals standing with them; there are likely more traitors in our midst. But it is the best we can do for now, and we need only stall her while we evacuate the city." She paused. "Those who agree to be evacuated are to gather in the mothership."

A louder burst of protests and questions. But Lord Green nodded, and various Guards and Tower officers scattered to carry out her orders. Annis descended again, as if it were just any other day in Court, and her calm never wavered as she was bombarded with questions.

"But Morgause and Morgana have been looking for something in the Core," said Merlin, bewildered, though he made sure to keep his voice low enough for only Arthur to hear. "The Core is not safe at all. It's likely Morgana and Morgause's ultimate target." Unless they'd already found what they were looking for? He'd assumed Annis would have let him know if she'd learned anything to that effect.

Arthur didn't seem as alarmed as he should be, or surprised that Merlin would know such things. As a matter of fact, Arthur looked almost... thoughtful.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. "You know what she's planning."

"I have an inkling," replied Arthur. But his eyes were a touch wide and his voice was hushed, as if speaking too loud might alert Annis to his discovery. "Remember when I mentioned she'd been having chats with Gwen? It seemed like, you know, the usual exchange of information: she gave Gwen access to some of the shield labs and Gwen installed a temporary interface between the Camelot ships and one of the Core's minor data nodes, with my permission. I trust both of them, of course, and, you know- "

"You're not actually supposed to have a functioning AI?"

"Yes, that, though Annis knows about Excalibur. Anyway, Gwen told me that Annis hadn't really seemed interested in Camelot, or even Excalibur's EMP-shielding."

"Then why the interface?" 

"Exactly. She claimed that it was something about raw scan-data and Excalibur's more comprehensive analytics, knowledge the Cav-labs would be interested in. I was pretty sure that wasn't the reason, but I haven't been able to work it out. The thing is, Merlin," Arthur raked his fingers through his hair, "full AIs may be rare, but there are a handful of ships in this city that have them, all of them far newer and more sophisticated than Excalibur. There's only one thing that she has more data on than any of them, one area where the Camelot ships supersede all the others."

Merlin's eyes widened. "The Dragon. And the Valley of the Fallen Kings."

 

More orders went out as Lord Green and the ranking Guard-captains came up with a rough strategy. From the sound of it, all grounded Guards were to harry at Morgana and Morgause's forces, delaying their progress through the city sections. There were no functioning airlocks around the Core; if they were coming in by ship, they would have to go through the Markets. 

"They seem intent on making their way on foot, my Lord," reported one of the Tower officers. "I do not know why."

Lord Green nodded. "Monitor their progress through the security network, let me know if anything changes." He looked at Annis. "At least this makes their route more predictable."

Annis drifted close to Merlin during a quiet moment, while Arthur and his Knights were in discussion with Lord Green. "Are you planning to be my shadow, Merlin?"

"Such is the first duty of Emrys, Your Majesty," answered Merlin. He felt compelled to add, with honesty, "I can't believe you even remember the old laws, at a time like this."

"The old laws are there because they were deemed necessary, once," said Annis lightly. "And I find, young man, that it is _especially_ times like these which make one remember those things that are important."

 

They soon found out why Morgana and Morgause were choosing to take the long, circuitous route to the Core instead of hopping half the city by ship. 

"Is this real?" asked Lord Green. He'd viewed the security feed on one of the consoles first, then demanded it be shown on the central compad. 

"They, ah, they could have hacked, um, the security network, sir," stammered the poor comm officer who had alerted him. Mordred gripped the young man's shoulder firmly, a silent reassurance. "But, um, I don't see the point? And it's happening all over."

The feed switched to a different ship, where Ruadan calmly watched a squad of Guards take up position behind charred office partitions, then held up his hand, shouting, and _shot lightning_ at them. The bolts arced around corners; some of the Guards had taken the precaution of turning their wrist-shields on, and had to throw away the burnt remains of their devices. The ones who hadn't, who'd assumed that the walls would be sufficient cover, fell to the ground and did not move again, their open eyes unseeing. 

"There are also reports from the hospital that some of the dead who've been brought in are, for lack of a better word, frozen," reported Mordred. 

"Hull breach?" asked Arthur. 

"I asked - no sign of the decompression that would have come with exposure to hard vacuum," said Mordred. He bit his lip nervously. "There are patients who claim that they've seen, ah, deadly spirits roaming the hallways, whose touch brings death in ice."

Lord Green pinched the bridge of his nose. "I suppose we shouldn't discount anything, at this juncture. Speed up the evacuation as much as possible. Let our Guards know that the enemy has weapons we know nothing about."

 

Annis beckoned them close. Well, she was looking at Arthur, and the Knights were understood as an extension of Arthur, but Merlin found himself being pulled along in their wake. Nobody seemed to find anything odd about this.

"You've worked out what I intend," she said. A statement, rather than a question. 

Merlin looked at Arthur the same time Arthur looked at him. As one, they said, "Camelot."

Then Merlin's eyes widened. He'd been worrying about Morgause's conviction that they would capture Annis; it more or less confirmed that there were more traitors amongst them, and likely this one would not reveal themselves until it was time to deliver the final piece. He'd assumed that Annis had either figured out who the traitor was or had had a contingency plan for the event; it'd never occurred to him that Annis would bypass that problem entirely. "

"The mothership," said Merlin. "You can't be sure that they won't get to you, so you're putting the _Dragon’s Egg_ out of reach."

Arthur and the others from Camelot looked confused. Annis only smiled serenely, and said to Arthur, "The Valley is still open."

"Aye," said Arthur. "But none in living memory has ever attempted passage with more than twelve ships." His tone said: this evacuation would involve hundreds.

"It has been done before," said Annis, "in the Separation, when House Pendragon led two thousand vessels through the Dragon." She met his eyes. "Perhaps it is your destiny, King Arthur Pendragon, to do the same."

 

The _Ealdor_ was primed for departure by the time Merlin got back to it. His mother met him at the airlock; Gaius had long left for the hospital. He relayed what he’d learned in the control room.

“It makes sense,” said his mother, to Merlin’s surprise. “Without shields, not even the Core can withstand the raiders for long in open space. At least in the Dragon, they lose their technological advantage.”

“So do we!” said Merlin, though he could see Gaius’ point. 

“They must call all the people to the Core,” said Hunith. She wore a look on her face that Merlin’s father had titled, with love, _‘Valkyrie on the eve of war’_.

“Will they fit?” asked Merlin doubtfully.

“The mothership was built to carry thousands,” said Hunith quietly. “And we will not have to go very far.”

 

When Merlin returned to the Tower, Gwen was sitting in one corner of the control room, in the center of so many compad windows that they made a veritable dome around her. She had requested and been given the centuries-old schematics of the Core; Lord Green turned to her now and asked, “We will not have time to install rescue-lines such as the _Camelot_ used during the Separation. Will it still work?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Gwen excitedly without taking her eyes off the floating screens. “Theoretically. Enough that you can tell those who want to risk the Valley passage in their own flagships that they might survive it. It’s a good thing you’ve been integrating every new shielding mechanism and algorithm into the Core. Some of these functions are unbelievably complex; I didn’t know shields could even do half these things.”

"You'll need more time," said Arthur. He glanced at Lord Green, who nodded. "Lancelot, stay here and watch Gwen. The rest of us will lend the Guards a hand."

"Be careful," said Merlin. It seemed the sort of thing Arthur expected. Arthur nodded; he and the Knights hurried out of the room.

Once they were gone, Merlin heard Gwen snort. "As if you'd actually wait here until the brave warriors come back. I think he still forgets that you are not, in fact, a bed-boy."

Lord Green, within earshot and in the middle of taking a drink, started sputtering and splashed a good bit of water on himself. Merlin winced and rescued the glass, while Gwen stammered her apologies and offered the man her handkerchief. Lancelot was staring at the wall like his life depended on it.

"Cultural misunderstanding, sir," Merlin explained. "It's the neck-cloth."

 

Merlin carefully crept from room to room, keeping count of where he was on the mall-ship; there was a connector-tube a deck down, which should take him straight to the Core. Cenred’s people had already gone through this section; there were holes and scorch marks everywhere, and the entire deck looked ransacked. He ducked, thinking he’d heard a noise, and was about to scramble away when he saw that there was someone huddled under an overturned table. He didn’t recognize the young woman, but she was huddled into herself, and Merlin thought he could see frost on the edges of her dress. He managed to slip behind a doorway right before one of the raiders appeared, leaning against the doorway.

Any moment now, the woman was going to be discovered.

Merlin waited until that masked head seemed to be looking the other way, then sprinted across the room, throwing his knife as he ran. He felt a shot fly past him, close, trailing the faint smell of plasma, but no more - there was a muffled sound as the invader fell to the ground. 

He reached the woman and pulled her after him, just as a second raider started firing into the room. Merlin did his best to shield her with his body. She seemed to have a hard time moving. Touching her skin was like handling ice. They made it to the far wall, where there was a door leading to a corridor for mall staff. Merlin happened to glance back and saw that the table was now riddled with holes.

A flash of light. Merlin flinched, even as he placed himself between the woman and the new threat. The second raider joined the first on the floor.

But no - it wasn’t one of Cenred’s people. It was Mordred, his officer’s uniform looking the worse for wear. 

“Mordred!” cried the young woman, slipping out from behind Merlin.

The two of them embraced tightly. Mordred stared at Merlin. “Kara. You saved her.”

Merlin waved them towards the staff corridor. “And now you both must get to safety. Get to the Core. Go!” 

 

He had a vague thought about looking for Arthur, but didn’t actually expect to do so, considering the sheer size of the evacuation efforts and the general chaos in all the ships attached to the Core. So he was just as surprised as anyone when he ran into one of the hospital lobbies and found Gaius hovering two feet off the floor and pinned to the wall by invisible forces, a familiar figure in a black dress standing before him, and Arthur standing before her.

“Lady Morgana?” said Merlin. Arthur's head spun around to glare at him with wide, worried eyes; Morgana ignored him.

A groan from behind him drew his attention. It was Sir Leon, bleeding from a cut near his temple, trying to sit up. He looked as if he’d been thrown into the wall. Merlin hurried to his side.

“Physician, will you tell King Arthur what you told me?” Morgana was saying.

Gaius muttered something unintelligible. Morgana snapped her fingers; the old man made a noise of pain. Merlin found his fingers flexing of their volition. He wished he had a knife left to throw. 

And then something was being slid into his grip; he didn’t look, in case that drew Morgana’s attention, but he could tell from the weight and heft that it was one of the standard-issue handguns for Cavalcade Guards. Leon must have picked it up from somewhere.

“The Lady Morgana is your sister!” gasped Gaius. “King Uther had an affair with the Lady Vivienne.”

Merlin felt his jaw dropping in surprise. Arthur stared, body still, for a short moment, and then he was striding forward, “Let Gaius go; please, he’s an old man, and your quarrel is with my family. He has nothing to do with it.”

“ _He didn’t help_ ,” hissed Morgana. 

She released Gaius, however, to Merlin’s surprise. Merlin slung Leon’s arm over his shoulder, pulled the Knight to his feet, and staggered inelegantly over to Gaius. 

Morgana paid them no heed, all her focus now on Arthur. “He didn’t help. None here did. Everyone loved my father, everyone adored my mother. That is all I’ve heard ever since I came to this wretched city. But nobody helped them, and when they died, nobody helped _us_.”

She stepped as close to Arthur as she could without touching him; Arthur, of course, held his ground. “Was your father in a lot of pain when he died?” Merlin could see the slightest widening of Arthur’s eyes. “Agravaine had a very _particular_ interest in the failings of the body. Nanoviruses aren’t quite as good as magic, but the results are surprisingly similar. Illnesses that may fester for years, undetected at first but slowly weakening the body. By the time they are discovered, it is usually too late. A long, agonizing indignity, at the end of which there is barely anything left beyond a shell.”

It occurred to Merlin that she could be hiding any number of blades or small guns in her dress. At their proximity, she could strike Arthur down with barely any effort. Of course, considering what she was able to do to Gaius, it was likely she didn’t need any weapon at all. 

Merlin slid Leon’s gun down from the sleeve he’d tucked it into, and fired.

A blur of movement. Merlin caught a glimpse of golden hair, and then a woman landed on the ground, nearly on top of Morgana. Merlin had instinctively gone for a head-shot, and the plasma had caught Morgana’s protector on the face. 

“Morgause!” shrieked Morgana, dropping to the floor and leaning over her sister. Amazingly, Morgause appeared to still be alive; she screamed with pain, her hands grasping at her face.

Merlin frantically waved Arthur over to them; he could not bear the weight of both Gaius and Leon. Arthur’s expression was dazed as he obeyed. He took Leon’s arm, Merlin guided Gaius’ steps. Together they limped out, towards the Core, leaving behind Morgana and her cries of grief.

 

After they handed Gaius to one of the attendants assisting with the evacuation to the mothership, they returned to the Guard Tower, which was nearly done with the process relocating the center of operations to the Old Bridge on the mothership. Arthur was informed that Gwen had already made the move; he and Leon went to use one of the consoles to contact Lancelot and confirm. Merlin automatically scanned the room. A helpless sort of panic fluttered in his gut when he couldn't spot Annis, even though logically, he knew that they would have heard about it by now if she'd been kidnapped.

“Where is Her Majesty?”

"Over here." 

Merlin turned. Annis looked tired, but held herself as straight and steady as always. Unexpectedly, she grasped his hands, touched his brow lightly with a littlest finger. 

“Forgive me; I meant to do this earlier." Her grip on him tightened. "I release you from your first duty, Emrys,” she intoned, “and confer upon you mine. Protect our people.”

“Your Majesty,” gasped Merlin. But her eyes were steely, resolute. This was ritual; the right of release was hers. 

He closed his eyes. “Peace to the High Seat.”

“Honour upon the House of Emrys.”

Arthur exchanged a quiet word with Annis; she tilted his head down and placed a gentle kiss on his brow. Then Arthur was staring at Merlin. A host of words surged through Merlin’s mind; he thought he might be ripped apart if he tried to say any of them, if he said anything less than all of them. Arthur’s gaze was bright and desperate and pained.

Before either of them could speak, though, Elyan stepped in. Merlin realized, dimly, that Arthur was still carting Leon around, one of Leon's arm slung over his shoulder; the Knight had insisted that he could still fly Lion.

"Sire," said Elyan, apologizing to Merlin with his eyes, "it is time."

Arthur turned to Merlin and said, “If we do not head for the ships now, the raiders will destroy the hangar.”

Merlin nodded, though his insides twisted up in helpless rage, sorrow, yearning. He thought he choke from it. “Good luck. I. Arthur, I-” Arthur crushed the rest of the words with a hard kiss. 

“Me too,” said Arthur, gasping.

They pressed their foreheads together, sharing air for a few precious seconds. Leon, who was still hanging off Arthur’s shoulder, was doing a good impression of not actually being there.

Their fingers caught, squeezed; pulled apart reluctantly. Merlin watched Arthur stumble away. When the distinctive red cloaks turned a corner, slipping out of sight, Merlin took a deep breath to center himself. 

 

Before they evacuated the Guard Tower, Annis climbed up the central platform again. She no longer had to do anything to gain people's attention; every eye turned to her automatically, their beautiful Queen who'd held calm and steadfast throughout a tempest that no one could have prepared for.

"We are the Cavalcade," said Annis. Her voice was neither strained nor loud, but rather pitched to certainty, as if her very will was as unquestionable as gravity. "Endings ought to make us more than we are, not less. This city was born in the wake of a war; it dies now in the birth of another. But between these were centuries lived in peace - not a perfect peace, but a _good_ one. How many worlds can claim the same? Peace is the honour."

"Honour upon the Cavalcade," echoed the main body of her audience, with a few "Honour upon the Queen" and, incongruously, "Honour upon House Caerleon." _Not a perfect peace_ , indeed. It seemed a pity that her words would only be remembered by this mismatched group, nobles and Guards and techies and workers and staff - and then Merlin realized that Mordred had aimed a recorder at the central platform, and his comm console was sending out the video. Anybody in the city with access to a functioning compad would be watching the streams; the Cavalcade had seen.

 

They filed out of the Tower and down the long hallway towards the West Gardens, where they would be able to cut through to the Quarters and then to the Core. The explosions were coming louder now, and people had stopped flinching when the shipsteel shook around them. It was particularly jarring to be moving through the Quarters at a light jog; these were routes he'd taken countless times, carpets he'd trod over without a thought, and this would be the last time he'd see any of it.

There were only three decks away from the entrance to the Core when Merlin spotted Annis leaving the group and heading for a different section. He sped up and went after her.

"Your Majesty, what are you doing?" 

"The High Seat used to be the Captain, which would make this city is my ship," answered Annis, somewhat out of breath, "and you know what they say about captains." She'd gotten a gun from somewhere, and paused to check the charge on it.

Merlin recognized the connector tube she was heading towards; it would take her to the _Caerleon_. "Queen Annis, you have more than done your-" Her eyes slid behind him and widened in alarm. Merlin spun about, a knife in each hand; it was Lord Green.

"Emrys," said Lord Green, without even looking at him, "tell Gwaine that I am proud of him, will you?"

It was all Merlin could do to nod and say, "Yes, sir."

"Green, what are you doing?" demanded Annis. For the first time since the attacks began, for the first time in Merlin's memory, she looked and sounded _frightened_. But she didn't seem about to attack Green, either; and the idea of Green being one of the still-hidden traitors simply _did not make sense_ to Merlin.

"We are getting a bit old for dramatics, Annis," said Green. His small smile was the softest expression Merlin had ever seen on his face. "I made you a promise, a long time ago. I intend to keep it."

Something complicated passed between them, through soot and smoke-choked air, and Merlin knew he shouldn't be witnessing it.

_But then, who would?_

Some things deserved to be seen.

"You silly fool," said Annis softly. She transferred her gun to her left hand and abruptly tore off a section of her flimsy, many-layered uppercoat, the deep russet brown and red of Caerleon. She offered it to Green, who wordlessly tied it around his arm. Annis glanced back at Merlin, nodded, and waved at the path ahead. "Lead on, then, my Green Knight."

 

Thunder rumbled somewhere, in defiance of the fact that they were on a _spaceship_. The hallways were eerily deserted when Merlin retraced his steps back to where he'd left the group from the Tower Guard. It wasn't until he saw the scorch marks on the wall and registered that the shapes on the floor were _bodies_ that he realized what must have happened; it was barely enough time to throw himself out of the way when a _fireball_ flew past where he'd been standing. Laughter echoed around him; he spooked, stumbling back. He heard no footsteps but there was a figure standing in the middle of the hallway when he turned back around; he gaped at who it was.

Nimueh smiled at him; the air around her seemed to crackle with energy. Her gaze spoke of quiet fury, hot rage carefully contained.

"So _you_ are the fabled Emrys," she said, stalking towards him. "You are known to the Priestesses of the Old Religion; we have been searching for you for a long time. Do you know that Morgana has spent half her life in fear of your name?” Another murmur of thunder. “She had a Vision, you see, that you would be her doom. I'd wondered if you could be persuaded to join us. Now, of course-" her eyes flicked down to his chest, and he knew without a doubt that she was aware of steadily humming machinery where there should be pulsing flesh. 

Light arced from her hands, and it was only his training that got Merlin rolling sharply to one side before it could touch him. He could not see a weapon on her, did not know from whence the light came nor what it did; he only knew that he could not let it touch him.

Another flash, and this time Merlin felt something wrap around his ankles. He'd been in the middle of getting to his feet; pulled off-balance, he landed painfully on his arse. He looked down and saw what seemed like bands of _darkness_ around his legs.

"Pathetic," she sneered. "You are naught but a boy who should have been allowed to die when your weak body could not sustain you." Light flashed. Hot pain burned down Merlin's spine, like a brand on his bones, like he was being cooked from the inside. "You and your kind are an abomination in the eyes of the Old Religion. We were strong, once; it was said that every human carried a little of the magic in them. Of course, only a few ever learned to control it - the few who are blessed by the Triple Goddess."

She loomed over Merlin. He hadn't noticed her approaching, and didn't know if it was due to - _magic, did she say magic?_ \- or the pain that was steadily ratcheting up under his skin. He had to bite down on his lips to keep down the whimpers of pain.

"Do you know what I feel in you? _Nothing_ ," she spat. "Nothing at all. You are _unnatural_. A machine that pretends to be a man."

Words he'd heard before. A hundred times; a lifetime. And in light of everything, the destruction of his home and the deaths and the losses still to come - _magic, magic, can it be believed_ \- he had no room left for more hurt.

But he found, suddenly, that he had _anger_.

Light flashed again. But from a different direction, this time, and Nimueh frowned as she spun to the side. The fire-pain let up a slightly, and Merlin drew in a sharp breath that sounded more like a sob. 

"Mordred," hissed Nimueh. "What is the meaning of this?"

Mordred. Mordred, who'd been in the Guard Tower all that time. Merlin hadn't paid him much attention, couldn't remember when he'd left; he must have, at some point, to look for Kara. Now that Merlin thought about it, he hadn’t seen any weapons on Mordred earlier, when he’d taken down the second raider.

Mordred countered Nimueh's bolt of light with one of his own. The next round was fire; Merlin had to close his eyes against the sudden, fiery brightness. He must have greyed out, because the next thing he knew Mordred was leaning over him. He was hurt, somewhere; Nimueh was much stronger than him, though Merlin couldn't explain how he knew.

"Merlin," said Mordred again, shaking him by the shoulder, "your eyes are _glowing_."

He felt her magic even as she called it into being. He gripped Mordred's hand, thinking to roll him out of the way, but Mordred threw himself on top of Merlin, protective. Merlin felt the jolt when whatever Nimueh cast hit Mordred's body. He had no doubt it was meant to kill.

" _No._ "

Next he knew, he was standing over Nimueh's body; her pale face looked like a doll's. There was not a mark on her that he could see. A kill that left no trace was a perfect kill, in the Guild of Servants. It was hard to have any pride in it, though, when he wasn't sure how he did it.

All he remembered was defensive instinct: to take what she had thrown at Mordred and cast it back at her. 

Mordred, to his relief, was still alive, though unresponsive. Merlin hauled him up with some difficulty and continued on the route towards the Core, trusting his body to know the way because his mind was _ringing_ , all white noise and sharpness. Eventually there were people, milling around, and then gentle hands came to take Mordred, and guided Merlin to sit, put a straw into his mouth. He managed a few sips before the darkness around the edges of his vision gave up on waiting and claimed him.

 

Voices drifted into his consciousness. Some of them were nearby, but some were far away - some were in other decks, on the other side of the ship entirely. It should not be possible him to hear them, he knew, but he could not remember why.

_...keyed into Excalibur..._

_Lady Hunith says that it will get very cold soon, we must keep as warm as possible_

_This ship is not built for a cold restart! Also, it's hundreds of years old!_

_...relay team in place to pass the restart signal to engineering..._

_The Valley is partially a theoretical concept: a confluence of favorable variables that maximize the chances of surviving a passage through the Dragon nebula._

_...shutting all power in five, four, three, two-_

"...one."

Merlin's eyes snapped open. He was... in one of the corridors outside the Halls, tucked against the wall. Blankets had been piled on top of him, and there were what felt to be equally blanket-wrapped shapes on either side. That was as far as he could tell, in the utter absence of light.

He had no way of knowing how long it'd been since they entered the Dragon. But the air was already gaining an icy edge to it, the temperature dropping rapidly. He'd never been in a dead ship, where not even the life support was functioning. He shifted, and realized that there was a strip of cloth tied across his waist, the adhesive at the ends anchoring him to the floor; no artificial gravity, either. He could hear some people hyperventilating; getting stuck in a dead ship was one of the greatest fears of those who've lived their lives shipside. It was hard to imagine Arthur doing this _repeatedly_.

Twenty minutes to clear the Dragon, Arthur had told him. But the Camelot ships were small, relatively light. For a ship the size of the _Dragon’s Egg_ , despite the more powerful propulsion at the start, it might take thirty minutes.

Larger size also meant higher likelihood of hitting debris; the Dragon was a ship graveyard, after all.

And then the engines would have to restart cold. It would be a race to generate enough power for life support before people started to die of the cold or lack of oxygen.

There would likely be casualties, regardless; likely in the less insulated sections. He spared a thought for his mother, who would have taken charge of organizing the evacuees. She was no stranger to hard decisions, yet some of these people were her friends, people she knew. Gaius would be amongst the injured from the hospital. Her absence at Merlin's side was sign enough that he wasn't considered to be in any particular danger. He knew she'd been by, if she hadn't placed him in this corridor herself: he recognized the softness against his skin as one of his baby blankets, now hardly large enough to cover his chest and shoulders.

As he became more aware of his surroundings, and the temperature continued to drop, the instincts that had been flaring up through the entire ordeal made themselves known again. 

He couldn't wait here. He had to be... elsewhere. To be ready.

The lack of gravity was an obstacle. He initially hesitated, but the sense of urgency in his gut grew, and he tried to remember - Mordred, and Nimueh, the bright lights, had to push down his queasiness and _reach out_. He thought: _keep my feet on the floor_. He was thoroughly convinced that this was not how it was supposed to be done, so he was surprised when his boots stuck to the floor as if they had adhesive on them too. _Less like glue, more like gravity. Please._ He was able to lift his feet. There was a dim burst of gold in the darkness; he remembered Mordred saying something about his eyes glowing. He used his remaining knife to cut the strap.

He stumbled over people's feet, whispering terse apologies, until he figured out how to sense the people around him. It reminded him of what Nimueh had said, about people carrying a bit of magic in them - except she'd felt none in Merlin, and clearly the magic disagreed. He forced himself to put her out of his mind. If the magic was going to help him save the mothership, then he was willing to use it.

He ran through the decks in the dark, years of familiarity serving him well. Most of the rooms he passed glowed full of people, bodies crammed into every possible space. And then there were odd corridors and storage rooms that were entirely empty; he supposed these had been deemed the least structurally sound.

At first, he thought about going to the Old Bridge, where Gwen would be, and possibly his mother. But he found himself moving deeper into the ship, and then towards the rear.

 _The engine room_ , he realized, right before he walked into the last set of double doors.   
There was a huddle of engineers in the corner. He thought one of them tried to talk, but it was too cold; Merlin realized that his magic must be insulating him, somehow, as the blankets that were still covering him - his mother was excellent with knots - were hardly more substantial than everyone else's. 

"It's all right," he said, into the dark.

He waited. The engineers waited. Thirty minutes was barely anything, in the vastness of space, but in a dead ship, it stretched into forever. 

Then there was banging from somewhere. One of the walls, possibly the ceiling. It was clearly a signal. Merlin remembered that one of the far-off voices had mentioned, _relay team_ , and smiled at the ingenuity of it.

A couple of the engineers staggered to their feet. They stomped heavily towards their consoles; from the sounds of it, they were wearing magnetic boots. If they cared why Merlin was there, they didn't waste time asking.

One took a deep breath, then grasped a large switch and flipped it.

Nothing happened.

"Fuck," gasped the engineer; her teeth chattered audibly. 

"It's completely cold," muttered the other engineer. He sounded as if breathing was hurting him. "We need to - something to - spark it."

Merlin was already pulling down the blankets, using his knife to slice open his shirt. "Would a Crip work?"

A pause. "Are you sure?" asked the first engineer.

"Yes."

They scrounged out leads from somewhere, and led him to another console. He opened the Line of Life and exposed as much of the chest frame as he could. The second engineer said he knew where the power source was positioned, had worked as a consultant in the hospital for a few years.

"Sure, lad?" he asked, through gritted teeth. "It - only a second, but - can't-"

"Please," said Merlin, nodding.

 

It didn't hurt. 

Or not very much, anyway.

Instead there was a heaviness in his chest, tightness; as if some dense fist was knocking outward on his ribs and up his throat, the echoes bouncing off all the soft, squashy tissue. He blamed the shaking of the ship, at first, until he realized there was a steady rhythm to it. Perhaps some part of the primordial mammalian brain would always recognize such a pressure-sound, recorded right into individual cells as they multiplied during gestation.

 _So this is what it feels like to have a pulse,_ he thought distantly.

 

Lights came on as they were carrying him out. Merlin's eyes kept closing, which he found irritating. They passed a window. He was expecting stars, or the Dragon, who would laugh at him., though the idea tasted strange in his head. Instead he saw - a lot of blue, and swirling light, and he thought-

**~ END OF ACT TWO~**

_Beware of dragons,  
say the hands that made us;  
not for claw,   
or wing,   
or vicious jaw  
but because   
they are born out of fire._  
\- text found in an obsolete databank, Camelot; author unknown 


	12. Chapter 12

Waking up was, all things considered, somewhat unexpected.

 

_Merlin._

Walls. Stone. Ceiling. 

Wide stretches of time seemed to pass between each blink. Night to noon to morning to rainy evening.

The first time his eyes opened and stayed that way, Merlin was so surprised that he sat up. Heat flashed over his torso. _Pain,_ he thought numbly, and there was something strange about how little concern he felt about it. 

He laid back down. He might have slept again, or simply stared. He saw the chips and granules in the stone above; he saw explosions silenced by the vacuum of space. Screaming winds that brought death in ice – the mere memory brought a faint chill. And Nimueh: thunder without sky and lightning from her hands.

The next time he looked, it was night.

Feeling weightless in the way that usually accompanied a festival of narcotics in his system, Merlin found himself leaning out of the sole window of the little room he was in, with no memory of leaving the narrow bed or walking across over the floor. His vision blurred at odd moments, sprinkled with points of golden light. 

It was dark outside. Good, he thought: darkness was familiar. Except this darkness was nothing at all like the darkness of space. There were _things_ in it, hills and animals and trees and wind, unseen but undeniably present. 

The points of light that he'd attributed to confused optical nerves turned out to be the lights of buildings, gradually disappearing downwards as if on a slope. 

_The Castle on a hill,_ he remembered Arthur saying, once.

He'd known where he was, of course, even before waking. It'd been his last thought as his body failed; which had seemed oddly fitting, at the time, though he could not now explain why. 

He reached out his hand, as if he could touch the lights, ignoring the slight tremors all over his body. A cool wind brushed over his skin, sliding between his fingers. Far above, the brilliant red and gold of the Dragon swirled and spread like crystalline foam shimmering amidst a deep indigo sea.

He breathed out. "Camelot."

 

It was hardly the first time Merlin had found himself so incapacitated; his assignments could, on occasion, be very dangerous, and he'd had his fair share of incidents that had ended in severe injury. 

But he'd never felt this _weary_ before, as if his wounds reached deeper than skin and muscle and bone. He felt cored like a fruit, hollowed out and replaced with air. His hands shook when he forgot to keep them still, and his mind would wander; he sometimes thought he could hear a distant, deep voice, calling his name.

He learned that Gaius, being a physician whose repute reached even those who practiced a slightly altered version of that profession on Camelot, had been given his own cozy suite of rooms, which he naturally insisted on sharing with Hunith and Merlin. The rest of the refugees were making do with far less, whole family groups crammed into makeshift accommodations and restricted to public spaces, until the Camelot Court could decide on a course of action. 

"To be fair to them," said Gaius as he poked around in Merlin's chest frame, "no governing body is ever quite prepared to receive twenty thousand new souls all at once, without so much as a warning. At least everyone is being very respectful of Arthur's wishes, and he's clearly assumed responsibility for us, if his leading the evacuation himself weren't enough.”

"Hmmm," said Merlin, then yelped at a sharp pinch on his arm.

"I know that face," said Gaius with a scowl. "It means you're itching to stick your nose in other people's business. You're confined to bed for at least a week; I informed Arthur myself. If I catch you doing anything more strenuous than reading a book, I will personally chain you to this bedpost."

"But _Gaius_ -"

"You _died_ , Merlin." The uncharacteristic sharpness of Gaius' tone silenced the arguments that had been waiting, poised to be launched, on Merlin’s tongue. Merlin found himself staring; he'd always felt as if he'd known Gaius forever, doctor and uncle and the father he'd lost too young. He must have stopped seeing, at some point, how Gaius was growing _old_.

_Everyone grows old. Everyone, except_

"Do you know," the bed creaked as Gaius sat down at the end of it, "how many times I've watched your heart stop? In many aspects of my work, familiarity makes matters easier: I can feel the difference between a sprain and a break, I can hear if someone's lungs are collapsing or filling with fluid. This - each time I think, this is the last, you've used up your second, third, tenth chance. It was the biggest risk with this tech, because there's always a chance for living cells to heal themselves, but machinery can't be repaired without outside help. Passing through the Dragon was risky enough. What you did - you had to know that you were going to short out your Crip."

Merlin swallowed. "We were all going to die, if I didn't at least try."

Gaius sighed. "Between you and your mother, it's a wonder I haven't needed a Crip of my own just to regulate my blood pressure. Sometimes I wish the both of you could act a little more selfishly, now and again, and leave the heroics to other people."

"Says the one in the family to became a _physician_ ," said a voice from the door. Hunith bustled in, smiling warmly at Merlin. "How are you feeling, darling?"

"'m all right, mum," sighed Merlin. "How go things?"

 

Two days after Merlin was allowed to spend a few hours sitting - quietly! - in a corner of Gaius' lab, a young boy came knocking on the front door. He passed Gaius something, and received a couple of coins in return. Gaius turned; Merlin saw that the boy had delivered an envelope, made of _paper_ , which Gaius quickly opened.

"It is a summons for a special hearing of the Camelot Court," said Gaius, "about time, as well. Everyone's been expecting this for weeks."

Merlin had a not-insignificant suspicion that a certain someone had been waiting for him to be well enough to attend. But he was still staring at the closed door.

"Was that a _messenger-boy_?" he asked, delighted. "A real one?"

"A hallucination could hardly have delivered this letter, Merlin," said Gaius, looking at Merlin as if he was reconsidering letting his nephew out of bed. "It's not as if people here can turn on a compad and send a message, or post a notice on all the news streams. Though I've heard that the folk of Gedref have managed to train some of their animals to deliver messages. People can be remarkably ingenious when the circumstances call for it."

“Hmmm.” Merlin frowned, mind whirring. “Gaius, do you have any books on the Camelot Court?”

 

“My Lord,” bowed the Knight who had come to fetch them, “I am called Mithian. His Majesty has asked me to show you the way to Court.”

Merlin bowed his head in return while indulging in a few uncharitable thoughts about the inexplicable attractiveness of all the people who served Arthur. “Please, call me Merlin.” Her name sounded familiar. “You are the one who Arthur leaves in command of the Guards while he is away?”

She looked surprise. “Aye, when His Majesty goes off-world. If His Majesty is merely visiting the other settlements, it is usually I who goes as his second and Sir Leon who remains in the Castle.”

“He often speaks well of you,” said Merlin sincerely.

Mithian smiled, then gestured for Merlin to follow her down the hallway. She was a princess, he remembered; the daughter of one of the minor kings around Gedref. Her posture certainly spoke of a noble upbringing, and the sharpness in her gaze would have been right at home in the open-floor negotiations of the Inner Hall. Yet her dark hair was tied back and braided to keep it out of her face, and she wore the ever-present armor with well-practiced grace.

There seemed to be a great deal of people heading in the same direction. Mithian explained that the King was allowing everyone as can fit into the Halls to attend the special hearing. Representatives from the Cavalcade, naturally, had priority to be in the Inner Hall; Merlin had already heard from his mother that this would consist mainly of the leadership of surviving Houses and Guilds, plus a few civic officials and assorted others elected by the refugees.

“The Knights send their greetings,” said Mithian. “They apologize for not visiting; many of them have been recovering from wounds they received during the battle, and those that have been judged well enough have been helping to distribute supplies amongst the refugees.”

“It’s quite all right,” Merlin reassured her, “I suspected as much. I would not have been pleasant company, in any case.”

Mithian turned out to be more than willing to answer Merlin’s questions as they walked, especially if they concerned Camelot. She’d been living in the Castle for approximately five years, and was clearly very fond of the place.

“I’ve never seen stonework of this quality,” mused Merlin as they wound their way through the very crowded Outer Hall, “and oh, are those paintings? How many people can fit in here? And are those doors made of wood? They must be difficult to move by hand-” He swallowed, abruptly; any further words skittered right out of his head.

A few seconds later, Mithian seemed to realize that she’d lost her charge; she came squeezing back through the crowd, and asked Merlin if something was wrong. And then she followed the direction of his gaze.

“Ah,” she said, laughter in her voice, “he makes for quite a sight, doesn’t he?”

“He’s,” Merlin had to swallow around the dryness in his throat, “all right, I suppose.”

Arthur was seated on a large, imposing throne, his expression stern and thoughtful as he listened to the speaker who presently held the floor. The crown on his head would have been gaudy and oversized, except for how it suited him _perfectly_ , as did the rich red cloak draped over his Knight’s armor. Sunlight streaming through the tall windows made him seem even more golden and warm, made the blue of his eyes somehow visible even from the back of the room. 

Merlin thought: _there is a star bright enough to steer by_.

It was mostly due to Mithian that he was able to find a good vantage point midway down the Inner Hall before the day’s usual business was finished. He spotted Gwaine near the front and moved to keep him in his line of sight – old habits. The last petitioner bowed and left; a bell rang thrice, presumably to mark the start of the special hearing.

Arthur stood; both Halls fell silent, every eye fixed on him. “People of Camelot, people of the Cavalcade; a great tragedy has recently taken place, the likes of which none here have ever seen. I will present to you my own account of events as I remember them, and then I shall invite Lord Geoffrey of Monmouth and Lord Cornelius of Sigan for their personal accounts. In this way, I hope to better your understanding of the plight of the people who stand in our midst today, who have suffered a loss that is beyond imagining.” Arthur cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping the Inner Hall. He didn’t _quite_ linger where Merlin was standing, and yet Merlin knew Arthur had seen him. “I shall begin. On the tenth day of La’áOimelc, approximately 3:40AM according to Space Standard Time, the Cavalcade was attacked by an unknown number of raiders, thought then to be under the command of King Cenred…”

Merlin tuned out the contents of Arthur’s words, letting the sound of Arthur’s voice wash over him with its comforting familiarity. He didn’t need to relive every detail of the attack through someone else, not when he had but to close his eyes to be back there again, surrounded by shrieking metal and the _silence_.

There was movement; Gwen slipped through the crowd to stand next to him, offering up a small smile. He returned it gratefully.

Lord Geoffrey corroborated Arthur’s story, with some differences in detail; it surprised Merlin to hear that the old man had stayed in the Core rather than taking passage on one of Camelot ships. Lord Sigan presented another view; his was one of the flagships that had survived the journey.

“…it is my wish to integrate the survivors into our settlements, which those whom I have spoken to have indicated as their preferred course,” said Arthur, speaking again after he’d thanked the two men for their contributions. “As this measure will have an effect on the people of Camelot, particularly in terms of supplies, I now open the floor to any who wish to challenge.”

"Aredien stands in challenge," declared a man sitting four seats away from Arthur. He seemed to falter slightly when Arthur's eyes landed on him, but managed to carry on. "With full respect to your authority, sire. It is not that we do not sympathize with their plight; we may agree to the establishment of a colony off the Isle of the Blessed,” there was a faint muttering from the crowd; Merlin remembered from the maps he’d seen that the Isle was days away from any of the other settlements, “but to open our settlements to them… Our people have worked long and hard to establish our livelihoods on this harsh world, and it is any land-born’s right to ask for proof of strength before giving up a share of our bounties to complete strangers."

"I applaud your bravery in expressing your views, Lord Aredien; I have no doubt that it is one shared by many others here," said Arthur. "And you are correct - every person in Camelot has the right to ask for proof of strength. In the past, such matters were easy enough to arrange, as our world received newcomers so rarely. But there are twenty thousand refugees from the Cavalcade. Even discounting the children, that is a large number. Surely you are not proposing to test each and every one?"

A proof of strength, according to the tomes Gaius had reluctantly acquired for Merlin, was meant to demonstrate a newcomer’s determination to live on Camelot; to prove that they would be able to survive the planet’s hostile wildlife; to show that they would be a valuable addition to society. It did not need to be a physical test, though it almost always was.

Aredien inclined his head. He did not look surprised by Arthur's objection. "Nay, Sire. We are proposing one match, to decide all."

"A Grand Tourney?" said Arthur, frowning. "And if the Cavalcade loses?"

"Then they are still welcome to establish their own colony, with no help from us," said Aredien. "We are not, after all, savages."

Merlin felt a subtle flinch from the Cavalcade crowd. There was a part of him that couldn't help but relish this sign of the long reach of careless words. It seemed the height of irony that Arthur and his Knights, who had borne the brunt of the Cavalcade's disdain, were now the ones stoically protecting Cavalcade's interests from their own people.

Arthur seemed to consider the situation for a long moment. "Cavalcade, what say you?"

There was a general murmur of "Aye". Such a form of consensus had been fairly common in the Outer Hall, where shouting matches took place at least once a day, but Merlin could see that the lack of a clear and decisive leadership was drawing a lot of smirks and dark looks from the Camelot crowd.

 _Grand Tourney._ There was something about that term - a duel, but not just any typical duel –

Merlin was fiercely glad that he'd spent his convalescence reading every book on Camelot that his mother and uncle could get her hands on. He cleared his throat. "The champions in a Grand Tourney must be the leaders of the two opposing factions, yes?"

Every eye turned towards him. He saw shock and indignation on the faces of a number of the Camelot nobility, and suffered a moment of confusion before remembering the mistake Arthur had made, at the very beginning. 

Perhaps it was time to adopt a different mode of dress. 

The same progression of thoughts must have occurred to Arthur, as his voice sounded very put-open when he replied with, "Correct, _Your Grace Merlin of Ealdor_. Normally, this would entail myself standing as champion for Camelot, but as I have formally declared my support of Cavalcade and, furthermore, those challenging your suit are only a faction within Camelot, not Camelot as a whole, their champion would be the highest noble within their ranks." Arthur turned to the other noble. "Who _is_ your champion, Lord Aredien?”

"Knight Valiant will defend our cause," said Aredien proudly.

"Ah, yes; on his mother's side," nodded Arthur. 

A fresh bout of worry raced through Merlin. Who now held the highest rank amongst the remains of the Cavalcade Court? He wasn't even sure of the entire list; there were over a dozen courtiers still in medical care, though he supposed they would automatically be disqualified, in any case. 

There was a burst of muttering amongst the Cavalcade representatives, who clearly had anticipated that they would be able to choose their own champion, not have it be conferred automatically to whomever happened to be highest in rank. Most of the Court were grey-haired and well into their seventh decade of life.

But Cavalcade had already accepted the challenge. 

"Who is Cavalcade's champion, then?" asked a woman amongst the Camelot nobility.

A soft voice answered, "Our King, of course.” 

Heads turned. It was Kara. Merlin could barely see her over the surrounding heads; her shoulder was in a sling. Pale and slender in her simple brown dress, she only looked puzzled by all the attention.

A bewildered silence fell. The nobles of Camelot were clearly impatient for further clarification, but reluctant to reveal their ignorance by requesting it; the nobles of the Cavalcade were mostly just confused.

It was Arthur, unexpectedly, who figured it out first. His sudden chuckle was both heartening and disconcerting, and Merlin could not help the glare he instinctively sent Camelot's King for frequently inciting emotions so confusing and contradictory. 

Arthur stood, drawing every eye to himself. He was looking for somebody in the crowd. For a second, Merlin worried that it was him, but Arthur's gaze settled on someone closer to the front.

Oh.

House Caerleon's turn on the High Seat ended with Queen Annis. Next on the High Court rotation was-

"Your Majesty," said Arthur, eyes dancing in amusement. "The Grand Tourney typically takes place at high noon of the third day after the challenge is accepted. Will this be agreeable?"

Gwaine gave a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose it must be."

 

"You _bastard_ ," said Merlin later, thumping Gwaine hard on the shoulder. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I thought you knew!" protested Gwaine. "Or, at least, that you'd work it out pretty soon."

 

Camelot was everything Merlin had expected, and at the same time, nothing at all the like.

Much of the Castle was a blatant reproduction of the Core. There was an Outer Hall lined with paintings; these were chosen by the King, to set the tone he desired for the Court, and Merlin wasn’t surprised to find most of them to be depicting the Separation, the crash of the _Camelot_ in a heavily wooded valley and the establishment of the settlements. There were also a few that contained a beautiful young woman with Arthur’s hair and smile, who could only have been Queen Ygraine. Merlin paused at one where she seemed to be sleeping in a cave, distinctly wan and pale; typically, nobles avoided showing that they were as susceptible to mortal ills as any other human, but Arthur was different from any noble Merlin knew, and in all likelihood there was some symbolism here that he was missing.

Merlin took his time exploring. He half-expected to be barred from certain areas, but nobody so much as steered him in a different direction; he did get shouted at a couple of times for blocking someone’s way. He was at the top of one of the towers along the outer Wall, looking out over the wooded slope, when Arthur finally found him. 

“Gaius told me what you did,” said Arthur quietly.

No preamble, which Merlin appreciated. A thousand responses flowed through his mind. “A certain someone exchanged my duty for hers.”

“She does that.” Arthur ducked his head. Merlin ached, suddenly, to touch him. He’d seen how close the two of them had been: Arthur, who had never had a mother, and Annis, who had never been one. Stubborn fools, the both of them. 

“There’s something you must know.” Merlin looked down at his interlaced fingers. “Lady Nimueh was with them – the raiders. I faced her in battle, during the evacuation.”

Arthur swore quietly. He stepped close, as if he meant to embrace Merlin, and stopped at the last moment. Merlin kept his eyes on the distant tree-line. Eventually, Arthur leaned over the parapet next to him, close enough for their arms to brush. “I saw some of what they did. To the ships and to the people. You should have run away.”

“She sought me out,” admitted Merlin. He felt Arthur’s twitch of surprise against his arm. “Well, she sought _Emrys_. Didn’t seem that impressed when she saw it was me.”

A pause. “And yet, you are here, alive. I’m going to make an educated guess that she did not fare as well.”

“I had help. Mordred showed up and distracted her.”

“Good man. I was glad to see his name on the list of survivors. Was she the reason he’s…?”

“In a coma? Aye.” Merlin sighed, covering his face with his hands.

“I have every confidence in Gaius’ skills.”

“That’s not all.” Merlin swallowed hard. He’d considered the matter thoroughly while he’d been confined to bed, with no choice but to wait for his body to heal, his thoughts chasing each other all ‘round his head until he near drove himself mad with it. In the end, some deep, deep instinct whispered, nonsensically: _not this time_. “She was… very powerful. None of the weapons could even get near her. I believed that I – well. But still, I had to try; don’t pretend you don’t understand. And then – she’d just struck Mordred – it was as if I suddenly _remembered_ , this thing I had forgotten, only –”

“Merlin. Breathe.”

He obeyed, pulling in as deep a breath as his lungs could hold. The shaking in his hands eased, and he pressed them down on the embattled parapet until he could feel every little bump digging into his palms. “I’m still not sure what I did. There was – light, or perhaps it was lightning, the noise was so _loud_ \- and she was dead on the floor.”  
For a while, all he could hear was Arthur’s breathing and his own, and a low, mournful bird-call in the distance. 

“You did – you could do what they did?” asked Arthur.

“I can, yes. I think.” Fear curled in Merlin’s gut; he didn’t dare look Arthur’s way. “I haven’t tried, since.”

A long silence. “I heard them calling it magic.”

“I did as well.”

He listened to Arthur shifting. He’d been braced for – every possible reaction that he could think of, really. 

“I’ve been careful,” Merlin felt compelled to add. “I don’t think I can – do it, unleash it, by accident, or I’d have done it long ago, but I’ve been watching myself. I don’t feel any different. Those – I think they called themselves sorcerers – they carried such _anger_. I don’t think I can do the things they did, though I suppose mad men will always insist on being sane-”

“What are you blathering on about?” interrupted Arthur. “Do you really think – stop being ridiculous, I honestly have no idea what goes on in that head of yours. And I’m sure we’ve had a similar conversation. Having this _magic_ will not suddenly turn you evil, no more than my giving somebody a sword and armour will turn them into an honorable Knight.” Arthur sounded impatient and severely put-upon. Merlin wanted to kiss him. He managed to restrain himself to merely looking, in time to see Arthur frowning thoughtfully. “I saw the faces of some of those sorcerers; the hunger that consumes. I’ve seen it everywhere. Their desire is power; that’s all it is. No less treacherous, but not so unfamiliar as you might think.” Arthur frowned. “What?”

Merlin knew that he was smiling far too broadly, in a way that Gwaine told verged on looking frightening. “Nothing. Just – thank you, for-” He made a vague gesture, because _for being you_ sounded ridiculous even inside his own head.

Arthur shrugged. “A busybody of an A.I. once advised me that, when faced with something unexpected or beyond my knowledge, the way through is in remembering what’s important and, if necessary, placing that before my own comfort and expectations.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “That’s… pretty unusual wisdom, for an A.I.” The sort of thing, perhaps, a mother might leave behind while building a ship, to be imparted to her child in the future. He kept that thought to himself, however.

 

Merlin knew that Gaius wanted to keep a constant eye on him, if he could – “You just got out of bedrest, Merlin!” – but the sheer number of survivors who needed medical attention kept the old man busy. He requested regular check-ins, however, at least for the first few days. So Merlin preempted the physician’s summons by showing up on his own at the storage hall that had been converted into a temporary hospital; he was rewarded by Gaius giving him a swift visual inspection before letting him off the hook for another few hours. 

He was on his way out when he recognized the mop of dark curls at the head of the bed he was passing. Mordred looked to be deep in a coma, still, and there were minor burns along his jaw. Merlin couldn’t help but remember the shot that he had meant for Morgana; Morgause’s agonized screams. He shuddered.

“It may not look it, but the lad is actually improving, better than I’d hoped,” said Gaius, passing by. “I think the planet’s weather agrees with him.”

“He saved my life, Gaius,” said Merlin softly. He absently rolled his left shoulder; it took him a few seconds to register the numbness there and what it meant; and then it was all he could do to keep his breathing nice and regular, even when he felt on the verge of drowning. 

“I know, lad.” Gaius patted Mordred’s hand. “I’ve been doing all I can for him.”

The moment Gaius was out of earshot, Merlin released the tight control he'd held over his breathing. The inhale was nearly a silent gasp, sharp; he glanced around carefully and, seeing no one looking his way, gingerly kneaded the skin over his chest. 

It'd been many years since he'd felt this sort of pain. He'd been a small child, forever sickly, who’d become a small child, tenacious survivor. A miracle of surgical skill and cybernetics. The pain of the CRIP had initially overshadowed the symptoms of his condition; he distinctly remember thinking that heartburn, perpetual shortness of breath, and the occasional bout of cardiac arrest could not have been all that bad, really. Then slowly, reluctantly, his body learned to accept the strange alien mechanism snuggled in with the usual flesh and bones, until Merlin had woken up one day with only an odd weight inside his chest.

He really should tell Gaius. 

But he couldn’t help the part of him that thought, irrationally, that ignoring it would somehow give him more time. 

 

Merlin stared. The creature in front of him stared back.

“It’s a _horse_ , Merlin, not a wyvern,” said Arthur, already sitting atop the beast. “We’re not even going outside the Walls; just a light walk around the Castle. I won’t let you fall.” He leaned down, offering his gloved hand. On the other side of the horse, a similarly mounted Mithian and Elyan nodded at Merlin encouragingly. 

Sighing, Merlin grabbed Arthur’s hand and stuck his foot into the little loop of leather hanging down the side of the saddle; let himself be pulled up, to sit in front of Arthur.

The Castle was a good-sized city, with paved roads and comfortable low buildings in neat circular rows. In the center stood the great central fortification – which was, confusingly, also called the Castle – with its enormous Gate; this was Camelot’s oldest standing structure, which had withstood everything the planet could throw at it thus far and, so Merlin had read, could still shelter the entirety of the city’s population in an emergency. A wide, busy road connected the Gate to the Wall, cutting through the rows of buildings and smaller roads. 

“Your home is beautiful,” said Merlin quietly. Arthur’s hands tightened on top of his.

He became distinctly aware of Arthur’s body behind his; the heated, muscled press of him. Merlin was hardly a blushing maid, but this strange dance that he’d engaged in with Arthur had been so tentative, so comparatively chaste, that the surge of lust from this new level of contact nearly made him dizzy. He swallowed, and tried to ignore the heat rising from his face.

It was remarkably hard to pay attention to architecture, after that.

 

Having dinner with Arthur in Camelot was both strange and familiar. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to happen, for one thing. For another, it felt a great deal more formal than their meals in Arthur’s suite in the Cavalcade. The fact of Arthur’s Kingship was impossible to ignore, here, even in Arthur’s quarters; the banner of Pendragon hung proudly on one wall, an enormous map of the five settlements was spread out on another.

Arthur cleared his throat. "And how fares the Lady Hunith?"

"She's doing well," said Merlin. He wanted to make a face at how _ridiculous_ all of this sounded, the both of them, but he couldn't even tease Arthur about it, as his own stomach was doing itself up into a hundred flowery knots. He forced his fingers to ease up on the utensils. "Happy as a techie with an engine. She's spent her life helping people through crises." He made a face. "I don't mean to say that she's getting enjoyment out of our people's difficult situation. But this is... something she knows. Something she finds worth in doing, more than she's ever found in the politics of the Cavalcade."

"I understand," said Arthur. He looked away for a moment. "I suspect my mother came here for a similar reason."

They survived the meal and escaped, by wordless agreement, to the balcony. The fresh air made things easier, took away the stifling weight of history – both Camelot’s and Arthur’s. Merlin thought, inevitably, of nights spent wandering the deserted maintenance tunnels of the Core; hands finding and catching and _holding_ , in the dark.

"You must miss them." Merlin turned to look at Arthur, tilting his head in question. Arthur nodded upwards. "The stars."

"Not exactly," said Merlin. "It's strange to see so few of them, but the Dragon is a rarer sight."

"Oh." Arthur glanced away. "You've been doing it a lot, that's all. I wondered."

"Doing what?"

Arthur sighed, as if _Merlin_ was the one being difficult. "Staring at the sky."

"Oh. _Oh_." Merlin fought the urge to smile; it would likely make Arthur grumpier, and for some unfathomable reason _everyone would blame Merlin_ for the King's mood. He tilted his face upwards. "It's just a strange thing, to see something above you just go on and on. I've visited a few planets and moons, but not for very long, and I never paid much attention. And- I know, intellectually, that the planet is a sphere, I've seen it from up there. Sort of." Best not to bring up how he'd been mostly-dead at the time. Arthur got strange whenever someone mentioned it, which Merlin didn't understand because Arthur _hadn't even been there_. "But from down here - I can see why people on Earthworld thought it was flat for a long time. It's hard to think of being a miniscule part of something so very big."

Arthur made a confused noise. "But you've been living in _space_."

"In a _city_ ," said Merlin. "In _ships_. In finite spaces created by people whose physical dimensions are similar to mine. Most of the time, I don't really think about space other than as a pretty backdrop."

A warm hand settled, not unexpectedly, on top of Merlin's own. "I live in a city," said Arthur, "in a walled structure, granted,” his wave encompassed the entire Castle, “but it's just another space created by other people."

"Different, and yet not so," said Merlin.

"Aye."

Merlin turned his hand over. Arthur's fingertips were cold; Merlin laced their fingers together, to warm them. "But at least you won't die a horrible death if you step outside."

Arthur snorted. "You only say that because you haven't stepped beyond the Walls, yet."


	13. Chapter 13

Merlin was on the verge of sleep by the time he made it back to Gaius’ quarters. Arthur admonished him for pushing himself while he was still recovering, though his hold on Merlin’s arm was gentle and steady. Merlin was fairly sure he slept a little, on the way, which might be why he was able to rally back to consciousness when he realized that Arthur hadn’t left immediately after depositing him on the bed. Arthur and Merlin’s mother were speaking quietly in the main room, Arthur pacing like he liked to do when he was thinking of multiple matters at once.

It was mainly about the refugees, the available supplies, Merlin’s recovery. Merlin allowed himself to drift off again.

"Merlin isn't my biological son," said Hunith.

The pacing stopped.

"I found him, in a refugee camp on one of the inner planetoids of Ancient Essetir. He was a tiny baby, nearly blue with the cold, and no one knew where he'd come from. He had a problem with his heart. The physicians there had done their best, but they were waiting for him to die."

"You took him in," said Arthur, unnecessarily. 

"I'd been on that aide tour for three years. In that time, I'd met a man, Baylor, whom I was about to marry. I was prepared to let him go; a sickly child was a lot of responsibility. But he loved Merlin from the start. When I finally returned home, a year later, new husband and child in tow, there were raised eyebrows at the swift elopement but no questions asked. My parents assumed that Merlin's condition was due to my frequent exposure to hazardous conditions; I was happy to take the blame, and let Merlin have all their sympathy and indulgence. Only Gaius ever knew; he needed to, as Merlin's physician."

"Does Merlin know?"

"I told him after his father - after Baylor died. He'd suspected for a while, I think."

A shuffling sound. "You are his mother, Lady Hunith. No good power in the universe can say otherwise."

 

The day of the Grand Tourney started out warm and grew even hotter by late morning. Merlin couldn’t stop glancing up at the sun, at the clear blue sky framed by thick clouds billowing from the horizon. As with the night, the sky was full of _things_ : birds, insects, weather. 

“I _have_ been planetside before,” said Merlin, squinting and shielding his eyes and still feeling washed in the sheer brightness. 

“But not like this,” said Mithian. She had positioned herself behind his chair. 

“No, not like this.”

Arthur arrived with little fanfare. There were a few shouts of “Long live the King!” from the general crowd, and a brief dip in the noise levels, but there was a clear sense that matches such as this were commonplace. Only the Cavalcade section of the crowd and two ranks of the attending nobility were somber of mien.

Knight Valiant appeared first, to be greeted with a great deal of cheering from the locals. He bowed to Arthur, and then to the other nobles, before taking up a spot near the edge of the fight circle.

Several minutes passed. Merlin was seated on the same row as Arthur, though several seats away. It likely carried some significance – he’d already caught several looks sent his way, evenly split between inquisitive and angry. He didn’t mind, as such, still used to being under scrutiny despite the gap of years between his youth as the son of Lady Hunith and an adulthood hidden as a Servant in a major House. He would have liked to have been able to look at Arthur freely, though.

There was a titter from the crowd near the entrance to the arena. Heads turned; several people hopped to their feet to get a better look. The moment Gwaine stepped into view, Merlin understood.

Gwaine was in Camelot armour.

His cloak was the familiar olive green, but the armour was unmistakably that of a Knight. Merlin wondered if it was Elena’s. No – the style was different, subtly reinforced down the sides where Gwaine’s defense was weakest, and every well-made plate fitted him perfectly.

“Gwen must have worked day and night to finish it in time,” murmured Mithian, admiring. “And oh, I’ve seen that sword before – it is one of Percival’s.”

Gwaine removed his cloak, balled it up, and tossed it over the stands without looking. Merlin leaned over the railing and caught it even as he rolled his eyes at the dramatics. Valiant was looking far less assured of himself. Gwaine strode into the ring.

The Tourney was to last three rounds, the victor being the best of two out of three. Gwaine’s expression was set on his usual bemused cockiness, but his eyes – Merlin realized, for the first time, that Gwaine had his father’s eyes. Merlin knew then that Gwaine wouldn’t be happy with anything less than utter, unquestionable victory. He almost felt sorry for Valiant.

Perhaps it was the importance of the match, as this was no frivolous show-piece; or the sense of Arthur sitting nearby, keystone and anchor of much of the recent tumult in Merlin’s life; or a symptom, of a kind as the numbness and spells of light-headedness. The Tourney seemed to pass in snatches, bursts of time being gained and lost together.

 _A cautious, testing jab, the blades barely touching before springing apart once more_ – the first days of their friendship, Merlin nervous about his charge and Gwaine resentful of being assigned a Servant by his father – _a quick cut and parry_ \- Merlin’s knife taking down an assassin, for the first time, and he pretends he’d been biding his time instead of nearly missing the threat – _block, block, a feint and a kick and then Valiant’s foot stepped out of the ring, the crowd simultaneously disappointed and impressed by the quickness of the first match_ \- taking a shot meant for Gwaine, the plasma nearly reaching the delicate wires of his Crip - _second match; the color was high on Valiant’s cheeks, and a trio of two women and one man seated near Merlin whispered approval, wondering who had told Gwaine that Valiant had a temper_ \- lying on the floor and watching Gwaine face down half a dozen hired mercenaries, because the damned fool refused to understand that he was meant to leave Merlin behind-

The second match lasted much longer. Merlin was fairly sure Gwaine was just showing off, at one point. _A parry-jab-turn-switch-undercut combination with footwork that would trip anybody not paying attention_ – learning difficult moves together, taking turns and repeating the steps over and over until their feet developed calluses. It irritated Merlin, because _now was not the time, Gwaine_ ; until he looked around and saw the looks of open admiration and respect from the Cavalcade crowd. 

_Proof of strength,_ thought Merlin, _he’s giving them proof of strength_.

An unlucky stumble cost Valiant precious time; he barely managed to bring his sword up to block Gwaine’s diagonal cut. Gwaine pressed his advantage, restraining his next swing enough that to lock their blades together, then punched a gauntleted fist right at the bend of Valiant’s elbow. The Knight’s sword flew out of the ring. Gwaine held the tip of his sword on Valiant’s neck; the crowd roared.

Valiant looked apoplectic. Some of the nobles were shouting, complaining that Gwaine targeting Valiant’s elbow was against the rules. It wasn’t – Merlin had checked, because no one knew how Gwaine liked to fight better than he did – but even the smallest doubt might cause trouble later.

Gwaine held up his hands. “My good people! Camelot has shown us many kindnesses. While it is my hope to be counted among your number, I also wish to honour the place from whence I have come.” He began removing the armour. Alarmed, and remembering the Knights talking about how difficult it was to get into and out of the suit, Merlin almost stood, to find a way down to the ring to help. But Gwaine fiddled with something on his suit and the various sections of plating seemed to be coming off without trouble.

“Oh, that is truly fine work,” said Mithian. She was leaning against the high back of Merlin’s chair; Merlin suspected Gwaine was going to be ambushed the moment her shift ended.

“Gwen has told me a little her plans to redesign the suits,” said Merlin, “I suppose this was what she meant.”

In a matter of minutes, Gwaine was sliding off the chainmail layer, and then – because this was _Gwaine_ – his tunic, until he wore nothing more than his loose trousers and boots.

Merlin couldn’t help himself; he leaned forward and looked towards the King’s chair. Arthur’s expression was all fond resignation.

“You asked for proof of strength,” said Gwaine. He fetched Valiant’s sword and returned it to him. Then he planted his own sword outside the circle. The noise from the crowd nearly drowned out his next words: “Let me give you proof!”

Valiant stared at him for a moment, likely suspicious. Gwaine shrugged, standing easily as if he could wait all day – he was probably the more comfortable one, Merlin realized; the day’s warmth was starting to make him sweat, even in the shade.

The Knight charged. Gwaine dodged the first swing, and the next, and a kick aimed at his knee; he had the natural grace of a dancer, his long hair whipping about as he spun. It was something Merlin always forgot, because of Gwaine’s personality – that Gwaine was frequently shorter than his opponents, more compact, had trained himself to compensate with greater speed and agility. Several times, the crowd gasped when the sword came within a breath of touching skin. Valiant grew more frustrated, made clumsy by tiredness and heat; Merlin had no doubt that he was trying to skewer Gwaine through, not just draw blood.

His mounting anxiety nearly made him miss it: Gwaine, pushed to the very edge of the ring, added an unnecessary extra turn when he spun to the right, and again on the left; the precious seconds eaten up by the turns nearly got him a sword to the shoulder, and they made no sense; at least, until he made to duck one way but slid himself right between the Knights’ legs – the superfluous spins had made Valiant’s instinctively widen his stance. A move that would not have worked earlier; but the Knight’s body was now trying to conserve energy. Gwaine ended the slide in a twisting half-roll, still on the ground, at the end of which he hooked one leg around one of Valiant’s and used the momentum from his roll to sweep his opponent’s leg out from under him.

The Knight lost his balance, dropped his sword right before collapsing in a noisy heap. Outside the circle. Gwaine sprung to his feet and bowed; the match was over.

 

Halfway to the Smithy, where he was to meet Gwen for a tour of the place – she’d apologized profusely for not seeing him earlier, bogged down by the work for Gwaine’s armour – Merlin felt the telltale burn and lightheadedness, and managed to duck into a small alcove without being seen. He closed his eyes and clutched at his chest, counting seconds in his head; it was curious, how the body reacted to the malfunctioning of its parts, even when one knew that natural instincts could no longer apply.

 

Merlin had never been present during Chamber-At-The-Close, himself, but he’d seen the inside of the Close. When he followed Arthur to Camelot’s version of the Close, it was clear that, as with the Halls, the Cavalcade’s legacy extended even here. Though instead of two concentric rings, Camelot had only one large, round table, around which the Knights and various advisors sat in no particular order.

Or so it seemed. But when Gwen saw him, she rose from her chair next to Arthur’s and pushed him down in her place.

“How do we know that the Dragon will stop them?” asked Lord Hengist.

“The Dragon has kept us safe from invaders ever since we first settled on this planet.”

“The Cavalcade thought that their shields would keep them safe, too!”

“That is what comes of relying overmuch on technology-”

“How did you think we came to live here? We did not sprout out of the ground; we came _by ships_ -”

“My Lords, my Ladies,” interrupted Arthur. “The Cavalcade was caught unprepared, yes; but the enemy’s success also relied on treachery, as well as an advantage that the Cavalcade could not have planned for.” Arthur leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “We had long assumed that King Cenred was the leader of the raiders. I now believe that he is not; perhaps he may even be dead, of assassination or a coup or treachery such as befell the Cavalcade. Those who now lead the raiders call themselves High Priestesses of the Old Religion; they behave as zealots, and my instinct is that they are looking for something of great value to them. Most importantly, they have capabilities the likes of which I have never seen. They use-” Arthur took a breath “-they called it _magic_.”

“I saw it, too,” said Leon. “They threw fire and lightning from their hands. Melted metal with mere words.”

Shock descended on the table. All around the circle of faces, looks of confusion and disbelief and fear were directed at Arthur. 

And yet. Merlin counted at least three who demonstrated alarm but not surprise; they glanced at each other, uncertain, and then looked towards Arthur.

Wait – not Arthur.

“Your Majesty,” Lancelot spoke up, his expression grave, “I’m afraid I have something to tell you.”

Arthur blinked. “Sir Lancelot?”

Lancelot took a deep breath. “The practice of magic has long existed in Camelot, sire.”

Had it been anyone else, Merlin suspected Arthur would have reacted in anger; but this was _Lancelot_. Merlin turned away at the look on Arthur’s face, and it wasn’t even directed at him. The sting of betrayal could be worse than anger; it certainly seemed the case here, from the pain reflected on Lancelot’s face.

“Sir Knight.” The tight coldness in Arthur’s voice was like a sword’s edge. “Explain.”

Lancelot stood. He looked calm and resolved to his task; Merlin suspected the Knight would stand thus even before an executioner. “A version of the Old Religion was brought here by some of the families who joined with House Pendragon during the Separation, and magic-lore has persisted over the centuries, though in secret.” He bowed his head towards Arthur; so close, Merlin didn’t miss the tremble in his breath. “I would have told you, my liege, but for the oaths that I have sworn.”

“Do you practice magic?” asked Arthur.

“Nay, sire. The knowledge and ability runs in families.”

“How did you come to know of it, then, if it is so secret?”

Lancelot raised his head, looked Arthur in the eyes. “Because we are kin from the first journey.”

“Do not blame the friend of your heart, Arthur Pendragon,” spoke an old man on the other side of the table. “Young Lancelot was caught between two loyalties. He has done admirably well, considering.”

“Lord Anhora,” said Arthur. “You know of this?”

“Gedref tends to attract sorcerers and the like,” Anhora replied mildly. “You have walked our Labyrinth yourself; that was the work of one, many generations ago.”

Beside him, Merlin heard Leon mutter, “I _thought_ that unicorn was a bit suspicious.”

“Camelot is, in fact, unusually suited to the practice of magic,” said another man. “Some of the native life here seem to use magic naturally.”

“Part of the war of Ancient Essetir involved a purge of all users of magic,” said Anhora, sending an impatient look towards the man who’d spoken. “The refugees who came here brought that fear with them.” 

Some of the sharpness left Arthur’s voice. “Why do you speak of this now?”

“Because you already know.” Anhora made a vague gesture. “Our oath was to keep House Pendragon from learning about magic. Now, you have, and not by our hands. Our duty remains the same, and in harmony with yours: to serve the people of Camelot.”

A woman said: “The Dragon may be able to keep out a regular fleet, but there is no knowing if magic can be used to breach it. Many of us have spoken with the survivors. It is clear that we must lend you what aid we can, against a foe so fearsome.”

“Your Majesty,” said Lancelot, “You must understand – the magic practiced here is nothing at all like what we saw. Our people use it for small things. Blessings for a good crop, spells for healing, charms to ward off the night-flies.” 

Arthur nodded, gesturing for Lancelot to sit back down. He stared into the distance for a long moment, lost in thought. Then he stood. “I need to think on this. We shall reconvene after Court tomorrow.”

 

“Arthur?”

The muscles on Arthur’s back were tight with tension. “I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“They didn’t tell me.” Blue eyes met his. “My own people don’t-” He drew in a breath, harsh. “I don’t want to be like my father.”

Merlin sighed. He wanted to touch Arthur – he always wanted to touch Arthur – rest a gentle hand on his arm or hip, but he wasn’t sure it would be welcome at that moment. “You’re not. But your father has ruled for a long time; the memory of him will linger, for a time, until your people get used to you.” He swallowed. “What you’re doing, what you’ve done, helping my people and letting us stay; that’s not something Uther would have done.”

It seemed the right thing to say, or at least it chased out some of the tension in Arthur’s body.

 

Having, evidently, processed that the world he knew wasn’t quite the way he thought it to be, Arthur spent the following day determined to learn all that he could about magic. Merlin had to admit to being impressed. The Close suddenly acquired additional desks, which were pushed against the walls, and stacks upon stacks of old books. A handful of men who called themselves Druids had apparently arrived at the gate that morning, vouched for by Lord Anhora. The Knights were recounting what they remembered of the battle, while Anhora and his Druids asked questions and were asked questions; all going on at once. Gaius showed up at some point, claiming he needed to check on Merlin, but he was soon happily poring through the dusty hoard himself.

“And there were those spirits,” said Leon, “whomever they touched suddenly died, as if frozen to death.”

“Do you mean the Dorocha?” asked Elyan absently, bent over a yellowing scroll.

“Aren’t those children’s tales?” said Mithian. “My father used to tell me that the Dorocha would steal my life away if I didn’t go to sleep on time.”

“It’s based on this place down in the south,” said Gwen. She had a book open in her lap; every now and then, she would absently straighten the pile that Elyan was working through, though the books and scrolls became disorderly again the next time he touched them. “They say that the screams of the restless dead can be heard in the night, even when there’s no wind blowing.”

“It’s a ravine past the Tomb of Ashkanar,” said Percival quietly. When everyone turned to look at him, he added, “I once traveled near that place with my family.”

His family had been ambushed and killed by bandits while traveling between settlements, Merlin remembered. 

“I never asked why you named your ship thus,” said Arthur. “I’m sorry, if I should have.”

“It’s in the past,” said Percival, with a small shrug.

“Such dark magic is not known here,” said Anhora, “but the refugees from Ancient Essetir carried with them memories of the atrocities committed near the end of the war.”

“To serve as warnings, if nothing else,” agreed Gaius.

 

A Guard came and informed Arthur that two people had come to the Gate, asking to meet him. While Merlin struggled to grasp the idea that _people could actually do this_ \- none of the other Knights even looked their way – the Guard added, “They gave their names as Tristan and Isolde, Your Majesty.”

“Ah,” said Arthur, “bring them here.”

"Milord," the man, presumably Tristan, greeted Arthur. He looked strangely hesitant, but the woman, Isolde, gave him an encouraging nudge that left him stumbling. "You have been kind to us, and by all accounts have been a fair and just King. There is something you should know."

"Unknown ships have been trying to reach Camelot," said Isolde. “The ones you call raiders.”

Arthur frowned. "I don't understand."

"We believe that the raiders have been sending through the Dragon; we know not where," said Tristan. "The first was five years ago, near as we can tell. A raider crash-landed into Lake Avalon. It's hard to be sure of the numbers because they look like falling stars."

"There have been no survivors as yet." Isolde paused. "But the fact that their ships have been making it to Camelot at all..." Her voice trailed off. The implications were concerning enough without needing elaboration, even to Merlin, who had not been living his life with the unshakable knowledge that nothing got through the Dragon.

"I've taken the liberty of gathering what information I could, from those as seen the crashes with their own eyes." Tristan handed over a battered-looking scroll to Arthur. "You will understand if some of the names given there are not precisely legitimate."

Arthur tilted his head. "I am perfectly aware that you have ties to the smuggling rings on this planet. There are, however, much more important things at stake here. Please, continue."

"Better yet," said Isolde, "you should see for yourself. One landed but two nights ago, right into the Little Ravine."

 

"Oh," whispered Merlin, feeling as if the breath had been punched from him. "The poor boy."

The Little Ravine was only a short ride on Excalibur; it was so densely packed with trees that she had had to scan the area herself to locate a landing site. Light footsteps, and then Arthur was next to him, peering into what remained of the engine room. In the silence, Merlin heard him swallow.

"They did what I did," said Merlin. "Except there wasn't even any shielding in here. And - by the Gods, Arthur, Tristan said there might have been dozens of ships.”

His body seemed to be moving on its own. He found his hand reaching out to brush back the boy's curling hair. He had a sharp flash: _Will_. He wasn't sure why - Will had gone quickly, relatively cleanly. This boy's entire left side was burned out. Melted. Merlin could not even be sure where the CRIP-tech had been, only that metal and flesh had twisted together in death. The boy's face was undamaged, which made the tear tracks underneath the grime even more distinct.

" _It was meant to protect,_ " Merlin muttered through gritted teeth, " _not to do this_."

"Merlin? Did you say something?" asked Arthur, who was still standing by the entrance.

Blinking, Merlin tried to remember the words that had slipped out of him. All that came to mind was a surge of rage, blinding hot. "I'm... not sure?"

Arthur gave him a strange look, but gently beckoned him over. "Come. My people will see to it that he gets a respectful burial."

"I'll do it," said Merlin, taking a moment to check that he was speaking proper words this time. 

He expected Arthur to argue. Instead, Arthur clambered down to join Merlin by the side of the engine core. He unclasped his long cloak and draped it over the boy. "We’ll do it together."

 

That night, when Arthur invited Merlin for dinner, and watched pick at his food; and, after, took his hand and led him gently to bed, Merlin couldn’t even claim surprise. 

They kissed as their hands roamed, as clothes were shed; as the bed dipped under Arthur’s weight and Merlin let himself follow him, skin on skin and legs tangling; as they touched each other and themselves and tasted the salt given freely of both of them. Sometimes one clutched too tightly or bit too sharply; most of it was slick and knowing and almost languorous, but for the want that seemed to reach through their skin. It was not the gentlest sex Merlin had ever had; neither was it the fiery conflagration he might have expected, after all the circling about.

Because they hadn’t been _waiting_. They’d met each other when they were already bigger than themselves, enmeshed in duty and responsibilities; they’d needed the time to learn how they fit with one another.

Later, head clearer and the terrible tension of the day mostly gone, Merlin thought to ask, “Arthur, you know the Castle well, yes?”

“Every inch of it,” replied Arthur sleepily.

“Is there a hallway, a long one, that then turns into-” Merlin waves his hands in frustration. “Hold on.” He’d read some of the spells in the books brought by the Druids; very basic things, as Lancelot had said; he’d found that he could achieve more by experimenting. For example, he’d seen how to make a small flame. “Forbærne” And then it was almost as if he could _ask_ it to do more things, such as take on shapes. “A place that looks like this?”

He turned and saw that Arthur was staring at him. “There’s pen and paper on the table by the bed, you know.”

“But this is faster,” he protested. “Well?”

Arthur rubbed a hand over his face, then peered at the model of a corridor floating above Merlin’s hand. It was not unlike a compad projection, Merlin thought – only with more fire.

“That’s.” The Adam’s apple on Arthur’s throat bobbed. “That’s my mother’s room.”

For some reason, that didn’t surprise Merlin at all. He explained his recurring dream, how he hadn’t understood the significance of the red cloak until he’d met Arthur, and his conviction that the dream was tied in some way to the destruction of the Cavalcade. “I’m sorry, but I think we ought to take a look inside.”

 

Unlike her workshop in the Cavalcade, Ygraine’s room in Camelot was scrupulously neat.

“She wasn’t in here a lot,” said Arthur, evidently noticing the same thing. “She liked to explore outside, when she could, and she spent all the rest of her time working on Excalibur.”

The only object they found that seemed distinctly hers was a small notebook. Merlin was strangely nervous about touching it, this thing that her hands had touched so many years ago. He left the task of leafing through it to Arthur, who turned the fragile pages with an awed sort of reverence. 

“A journal?” asked Merlin, when his curiosity got the better of him.

“Not exactly,” said Arthur. “There’s no date to anything, no personal details. Her thoughts and observations about life on Camelot, mostly. And her account of her walking-trips.” He turned to the first page. 

_Today I found the Heart of Camelot. I think I will take it to the Caves._

 

"What would you do if you saw an old man in the woods?" asked Merlin, having read through most of the book.

" _Mer_ lin," sighed Arthur from where he was investigating a different part of the room, "I'm sure I told you about that. It's an old superstition. A children's game. My father showed me himself, how the shadows under the trees can take the shape of a person."

"Yes, yes, but what would you actually _do_ , if you saw such a shadow?" persisted Merlin. "Turn away? Walk towards it?"

Arthur gave him a strange look. "You wouldn't walk _towards_ it, don't be ridiculous. You'll end up lost and disoriented in the middle of the forest." He scratched his brow. "I usually call out, in case there really is somebody there and they need help. The wind knocking around the tree branches can sound like footsteps through the underbrush, and some bird-calls can sound like voices, but actual conversations are impossible to imitate. If there's no clear vocal response, you're supposed to move _away_ from the 'old man'. Everybody knows that."

From old tales told to every child in Camelot. But Ygraine was from the Cavalcade.

What would she have done, if she had seen what she thought was a lost old man wandering about?

"She followed him," muttered Merlin. 

 

He was trailing after Arthur and his Knights, content to listen to Mithian argue with Gwaine over designs of crossbows, when he blinked and, upon lifting his eyelids, discovered that he was staring up at the dusky sky, the stone floor cold and hard against his back.

“Merlin!” Gwaine’s face popped into view. “What happened?”

He grinned weakly at his friend. “I, ah, might have been having problems with my Crip.”

He immediately regretted being so glib when, rather than fetching Gaius, Arthur insisted that Merlin be _carried_ to the physician’s quarters. Percival paid no mind to Merlin’s complaints and assurances that he _could still walk, put me down!_

“It is as I had feared,” sighed Gaius, rubbing a hand over his face. “The electromagnetic field that disrupts electrical equipment on this planet is interfering with his Crip.”

Merlin shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “I didn’t think I could get away with – making it here, not that cleanly.”

Gaius gave him a sharp look, then sighed and squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, my boy. We’ll find a way around this.”

The moment Gaius left the room, Gwen abandoned whatever she’d been examining in the corner of the room.

“Gwen, what is it?” asked Merlin, seeing her face.

She was looking at Arthur. “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of Gaius, and I know we do not speak openly of it; but, Arthur, we know at least one piece of advanced tech that’s been able to survive on this planet.”

Arthur’s eyes widened; his gaze met Merlin’s. “Excalibur.”

 

“We should retrace Queen Ygraine’s steps,” said Merlin. “She found something in the woods, I know it. None of her notes go into detail about how she created Excalibur’s AI. There aren’t even any notes about the ship. She could not have built an entire, AI-capable ship without using a single schematic.”

“There wasn’t anything in her workshop in the Cavalcade, either,” said Arthur. “I would have noticed. All I saw was her work before her marriage to my father.” He frowned. “It’s odd – it never occurred to me before, the lack of any records of her work.”

“Maybe she destroyed everything, once Excalibur was complete?”

“I don’t think she had the time,” said Arthur, after a moment’s thought. “She was close to dying, by all accounts. I suppose she could have had help. But there has never been anybody here who knew about Excalibur, that I know of, who hadn’t learned of her from me.”

“Let’s hope that, if she did leave anything, it’s here and not on Cavalcade.” Merlin winced. “Well, Cavalcade-That-Was, I suppose. That’s what people have started calling it, anyway.”

 

Retracing Ygraine’s path meant that they had to walk instead of fly; they couldn’t risk missing some important detail because they were hundreds of feet above the ground. The Knights, of course, willingly volunteered to accompany them. Merlin didn’t realize he’d begun to count Gwaine as one of the Knights until one of Arthur’s attendants, taking down some last-minute directions before Arthur’s departure, blinked in surprise at seeing Gwaine in their company.

Within the first half-hour of setting out from the Castle, Gwaine and Merlin had each narrowly avoided meeting a painful end nearly half a dozen times apiece. Merlin found a hitherto undiscovered capacity in himself for tripping over empty air, which should have put him ahead in the count – if not for Gwaine’s tendency to allowing his keen sense of curiosity to win out over any self-preservation instincts he might have. 

Merlin was fairly sure, between all the silent looks and unsubtle gesturing, that Arthur and Lancelot had wordlessly appointed themselves to minding him, while Percival and Elyan kept an eye on Gwaine. 

"We should be reaching the Cliffs soon," said Arthur. Merlin stumbled; the rocky ground in this area was riddled with holes, most of which were filled with sand. There was a faint hissing sound as sand was displaced by Merlin's incautious foot.

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the belt and snatched him back, half a beat before a brown-red serpentine head snapped at the air where Merlin's leg had been.

"Oh," breathed Merlin, "thanks. Again."

Arthur made a noncommittal noise, letting Merlin go and peering out over the sparse brush.

Somewhere down the slope, Elyan sighed noisily. "Gwaine, that's not a rock you're sitting on. Get up before the nest-mother comes back."

"I suddenly understand why no enemy has ever taken Camelot," muttered Merlin. "Never mind the Dragon - the planet itself will do anybody in, if they get this far."

 

Arthur leaned down and rummaged around in the undergrowth. When he straightened back up, his hands were empty - or so Merlin thought, until he looked closer and saw that Arthur's palms were covered with a thin layer of pale yellow slime. Arthur held them up. At first, nothing happened. Then something bright yellow swooped down from the tree branches. Merlin jerked backwards just as a delicate wing brushed over the very top of his head. Arthur, on the other hand, stood perfectly still, and let the new arrival settle on his hand.

Merlin gaped. "Is that a _butterfly_?"

"Yes?"

"It's _huge_. Its wings are bigger than my _face_."

Arthur shrugged. "They grow much bigger than this, further south." He slowly moved his hand. The butterfly twitched its wings, but otherwise stayed put. He took a cautious step forward. The butterfly seemed content to stay where it was. Arthur relaxed, and started walking once more.

An hour later, they had somehow lost the Knights. Arthur didn’t seem concerned, at least, reassuring Merlin that they would find the others before the end of the day. Merlin relented and asked, "Why are we bringing the butterfly along, again?"

As if Merlin's words were the prompt that the forest had been waiting for, the butterfly suddenly unwrapped its proboscis from Arthur's thumb and took off, winging it madly for the tree branches. Merlin was yanked forward by the arm and hauled towards the nearest tree. Arthur gave the bark a good, hard kick. There was a splintering sound, and then Merlin was being shoved inside the tree, which was apparently hollow. The tree wasn’t very large, so neither was the space within; Merlin found himself squeezed in beside Arthur, with a great deal of their bodies touching. He could feel Arthur's breath against his neck, the minute shifting of muscle and bone in Merlin's very solid, very _broad_ frame. 

Merlin's body clearly wasn't tying the spike of adrenaline to what his brain knew was a life-preserving measure.

 

By the time they camped for the night, Merlin was almost too tired to eat dinner, which was apparently Percival’s turn to make. The beans tasted better than a hundred gourmet dinners in the Cavalcade. 

Trying to ignore the aching of his muscles, Merlin tilted his head back and stared at the sky. Camelot's moons were all visible tonight, though in different phases. Pale silver faces against a backdrop of deep blue and shimmering red-

He bolted up to sitting, so suddenly that something clattered behind him and Gwaine began swearing.

Three moons.

"The Triple Goddess," he said. He couldn’t remember where he’d heard it from; it wouldn’t have stuck in his mind if it weren’t important. He waved Gwaine away when his friend asked if he was all right, and stared at the twinkling, busy sky until sleep came.

 

After four days of following the path that Ygraine recorded in her notebook, nothing of note had turned up. Merlin was not as discouraged as the others; he had his suspicions, and no one seemed to think anything odd about the way he kept staring into the trees. 

And then, he saw him.

He stopped so suddenly that Percival bumped into him. “Sorry, Merlin – oh, don’t pay that any mind, it’s just the Old Man. He’s a clever shadow-trick of the forest.”

The Old Man waved at them, tilting his head, and disappeared into the trees.

Merlin started to walk after him. Arthur grabbed his arm.

“It’s a _trap_ , Merlin.”

Merlin brushed off Arthur’s hand calmly and firmly, but some of his impatience reached his voice. “Then feel free to stay here. I’m going to see where he goes.”

Merlin spun on his heel and stormed off, in the direction the Old Man had gone. He heard Arthur’s boots following him a moment later. There was a flurry of hurried discussion from the Knights; they were likely debating which among them would follow and which would stay behind. 

They had wandered close to a downward slope, Merlin soon realized. The tree-line obscured the other side, but he thought it resembled a bowl rather than a valley. He half-stumbled, half-slid down the slope, wincing when he tripped over bushes and low rocks. The forest seemed to grow denser around him, tree branches arching high above to create a thick canopy; he began to suspect that Arthur might be right. The place didn’t _feel_ hostile, though.

But the only thing he found was more forest. The trees looked no different than the ones up the slope, no birds or creatures approached them. They walked around to be sure, but eventually Merlin was forced to say, “There’s nothing here.”

Except Arthur was now frowning, looking about them and glancing up at the sky. “I know this place,” he said. He walked away, following the line of the slope. Merlin heard Percival calling after them, and had to shout back that they were fine, Arthur was just investigating something.

In the time he’d taken to respond, he’d lost sight of Arthur. He hurried after him, listening for any signs of danger or fighting, and nearly ran into Arthur’s broad back.

Arthur was looking at a mound in the middle of a thick copse of trees. Or, at least, Merlin thought it was a mound. Arthur kicked away some of the underbrush and topsoil. Merlin reached out with his magic,   
_brushing aside the skin of the land to see the newly-added bones._

The gleam of shipsteel.

“This was where the _Camelot_ landed – the flagship of House Pendragon,” said Arthur quietly. “We’re standing in the crater that it made.”

“By the gods,” said Merlin. A thought struck him. “Arthur. The Heart. When she spoke of finding _the Heart_ in the forest. She must have meant the Camelot’s databanks.”


	14. Chapter 14

“She can only have meant the Crystal Caves,” decided Arthur. “There are no other caves of note within two hundred square miles. And we know that she frequently visited it.”

“Why would Her Majesty hide the Heart of the Camelot there, though?” asked Leon. “Such a find would be of great worth to our people.”

“It held a great store of knowledge, yes?” said Merlin. “I can only think of one reason why she might think such a thing were better left hidden.”

“If she thought that the knowledge it held was too dangerous,” said Arthur quietly.

Merlin nodded. “The Camelot was the flagship of House Pendragon, and Pendragon was one of the original High Court. Who knows what she could have found there.”

 

They altered the course of their return journey to pass the Crystal Caves. 

“Oh good,” said Gwaine, “Let’s discover more ways to die in the wild, I would hate for it to become _repetitive_.”

The return journey seemed slightly easier. Merlin didn’t know if it was because he was getting used to watching out for dangerous flora and fauna, or having a clear destination was encouraging to the Knights. Gwaine, naturally, did not stop complaining the entire way.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur instructed the Knights to camp in a field a short distance from the Cave. Arthur explained that the Caves were considered to be something akin to hallowed ground amongst his people, and there was no need for all of the Knights to accompany them anyway.

The moment Merlin entered the Cave, he could understand the inclination towards reverence. He had a hard time keeping his eyes on the path; he kept wanting to gawk at the splashes and patterns of light cast by the torchlight hitting the crystals. The air within the Caves had a stillness and serenity that seemed rude to disturb.

Merlin saw movement at the corner of one eye. He started, immediately doubting himself; there was barely light enough to see his own boots. Then he had the distinct impression of having been played, and was tempted to ignore this new, least subtle nudge; to head out and follow Arthur back to the Castle and give this whole thing up for the ghost it clearly was. But he’d followed the Old Man this far.

He conjured a glowing ball of light to see by, and rolled his eyes when the light helpfully drifted to a far, semi-hidden niche deep inside the cave. “Arthur, over here,” he called.

It looked like a box, the absence of rust suggesting it was made out of shipsteel, nestled amidst an especially thick crop of enormous crystals. Merlin was reminded of the odd crystals lining Excalibur’s bulkhead, the alien-like configuration of the mainframe under the pilot-chair. He thought, with some degree of appropriate awe: this was the Heart that made Excalibur.

A compad window flickered to life above the box. Merlin, who had once lived in a world full of them, nearly reacted with magic at the unexpected tech. He stared. The box wasn’t just hidden amidst the crystals – it was _part_ of them, somehow, the crystals jutting out of the side of the shipsteel. 

“The crystals are the emitters,” said Merlin, trying to get a closer look, “whoever made this had integrated the crystals into the circuitry, using them to focus and project the light-”

“Stop gawking and pay attention to this,” snapped Arthur. His voice carried more nervousness than irritation, however, and there was something wide and vulnerable to the set of his eyes.

A face appeared on the window: a video, the image resolving into three dimensions when the recorded track automatically started.

"I am Ygraine,” said the face calmly, “a woman of the Cavalcade and Queen of Camelot. Once I have locked this place, it will open only to one who bears the blood of Pendragon and has the amulet of the House of Emrys. Arthur, my son, if you are watching this, then it must mean that you are now King, and able to access my possessions on the Cavalcade; I will leave my amulet there, on my next and likely final visit. I know Uther well enough to guess that he will not disturb my workshop.”

The two of them stared. Merlin remembered, all of a sudden, following Arthur to the dusty room full of his mother's old work. An empty jewelry box; Arthur had told him that a necklace had been taken.

Merlin had never asked what the necklace looked like.

"Arthur," he called, yanking at the chain around his neck and drawing it out, "Arthur, your mother's necklace - did it look something like this?"

Arthur blinked down at Merlin’s outstretched palm: the rod of metal etched to mimic a wood-like texture, complete with knobs and whorls, representing the Staff of Emrys. “Yes. Exactly like.”

“To proceed, place your proof of right on the crystals.” Two large crystals began to glow next to the wall. 

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other. "Your mother was Emrys?" asked Merlin, still caught on that detail.

Arthur glared. “Out of this entire… thing… _that’s_ the part that trips you? Just – shut up and use your amulet.”

Arthur gingerly pressed his fingers against one crystal. Merlin inserted the amulet in a groove in the other crystal; he was not surprised to find that it fitted perfectly. Pulses of light flashed through the crystal that Arthur was touching, not unlike a scanner. 

“Proof of right confirmed.”

Nothing happened, for a moment, and then a lot of the crystals around them began to glow; the light brightened faster than he could have expected, a breath short of a flash; before he could shut his eyes, something shot into them, like a beam of concentrated light; memory, if memory could sound like light and taste of the tinkle of crystals, he-

s a w

h e a r d

f e l t

I found the Heart of the Camelot while I was exploring in the woods. I had thought to bring it back to the Castle, as a gift for my King and my adopted people. But it came alive when I touched it, and it accepted my Emrys code, allowing me access to the hidden drives deep within the mainframe.

I learned why the Cavalcade was looking for this planet.

It was a legend that came out of Ancient Essetir, in the last days of that terrible, terrible war. The Diamair, guarded by the last of the Great Dragons. Whomsoever finds it would be granted   
g r e a t   
p o w e r

I was ready to dismiss it – a desperate people will grasp at any sign of hope – but then there was a message. 

E m r y s h i m s e l f  
told me that the Diamair was here, in the Crystal Caves.

_\- nebulae shrunk into suns while the stars wheeled about, watching; he wondered how they became trapped, how the crystals held them; in the dark, he found Arthur’s hand-_

I came, bearing the Heart, and the Heart led me to the Diamair. It was zie who told me I was dying. Zie tried to heal me, but  
m y b r o t h e r  
did his work too well. I should be surprised. I am not.

Zie showed me – the crystals shield against the electromagnetic pulses that sweep the planet. I will be able to create and install an AI into t h e s h i p

There is new life within me. Zie said zie healed me enough for it. Zie was surprised that I could not tell. Uther is ecstatic. I have not told him about the nanovirus. 

_\- a blur, passing time-_

Mortality makes the mind think strange things.

The crystals here have the most wondrous qualities. The Diamair loves them; zie is such a gentle soul. It is hard to think of hir as a great power that people have crossed the galaxy to find. Knowledge of all things. I think I can understand, now, why that is so dangerous.

I am getting worse. My body is supporting two, and inside the cave, the nanovirus is not slowed by the planet’s EMP field. I’ve asked zie to monitor the babe’s progress. I know Agravaine designed the nanovirus to lock on to a specific genetic code, but I am surprisingly disinclined to trust him to have done the job properly.

Zie has never asked why I do not simply stay away from the cave.

_\- time flew and freed and fled -_

There are those who would think this abomination, a coward’s path; Uther would never forgive even the attempt. But I find that I care only what my child will think. Zie says it will be male, and I have already picked a name: Arthur. I do not… some days I wonder what I am doing. Daring this. Yet isn’t that the most human thing? I am afraid; I do not want to die.

Zie will leave this world once Arthur is born. I should ask hir why, but all I can think of is that my child will be alone, will think his mother left him when I desire anything but.

I do not want to die.

_\- the echo chased them -_

I do not want to die.

 

He doubled over, gasping wetly. It took him clasping his free hand over his eyes to realize that his eyes _were_ closed, that the red-tinged brightness he was seeing was an afterimage that was taking a while to fade. From the way his hand was being squeezed into two, Arthur was not much better off. 

“Morgana’s after the Diamair,” croaked Arthur. “Do you think she’ll believe us if we tell her zie is no longer here?”

“She will raze the planet just to check,” said Merlin. “By the gods, my head hurts.”

“I feel worse than that time I tried to eat Annis’ cooking.”

Their joint laughter seemed to surprise both of them; they smiled at each other, and it felt a little like crying. This was good, Merlin thought, like a fresh scar still aching in the cold.

“I wish I’d known Annis better,” was all Merlin could think to say. “I wish I could have known Ygraine.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, “me too.”

They stayed there for a long while, just breathing.

 

Then, not a sound, but a whisper of a spell. Arthur’s eyes glazed over, then closed; he went from sitting up to slumping back against the wall, his head bouncing against the surface hard enough to make Merlin wince. Merlin summoned fire without even thinking about it; yet some part of him _knew_ who it was, had known since he’d seen the Old Man near the crash site.

“Put that away,” said his own face, aged several decades. “Come, we should talk.”

Merlin cast a reluctant glance at Arthur’s unconscious form. 

“Oh, he will keep,” said the old man. “Goodness knows that skull of his has taken harder hits without any lasting damage. He needs a bit of a rest, anyway.”

The old man led the way out of the Cave. “So, have you figured out who I am, yet?”

“You’re my Heart,” said Merlin simply.

“In a manner of speaking. Nicely poetic, don’t you think?”

“You were the first Emrys, weren’t you?”

“ _We_ were, yes. We are, technically, the same person; I’m just the part that remembers.”

“Hey, _you_ were the one who separated us. Separated yourself.” Merlin frowned. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Think. I could have been master of all the known worlds, if I wanted. I have seen many wonders, lived through hundreds of lifetimes. I carry thousands of years of knowledge.” 

“But,” Merlin paused, then said, slowly, “no Arthur.”

“But no Arthur,” agreed the old man. His expression would be called humorous, if it weren’t cracked through with a sadness so immense that Merlin couldn’t fathom how any heart could bear it.

It seemed _his_ hadn’t been able to, in the end.

The old man bowed his head. “I searched, and waited. For centuries. Generations. I found him, sometimes, and other times I didn’t. A pattern began to emerge. Arthur’s life had two paths. In one, I find Arthur and gain his trust, eventually becoming his old, wizened advisor, only to watch him die by treachery, as good and powerful men tend to do. In the other, I never find him, and he either lives out his life as a respected but rather ordinary man, or he is killed before he reaches his potential. It was – better than nothing, I supposed.” 

Merlin pondered it over, inwardly shuddering at the thought of losing Arthur again and again. “What changed?” 

“I had a long talk with an old friend – do you know, his riddles actually make sense once you’ve been around for a while – and he accused me of having lost my touch. _Wallowing in the tragedy of my situation_ , were his precise words. As if he doesn’t secretly love our little human dramas. In any case, he kicked some sense back into me with a very simple question.”

There was an expectant pause. Merlin sighed. “And what was this question?”

The old man grinned – and there, finally, was a hint of something Merlin could recognize as his own. “That old lizard looked me in the eyes and asked: _what would Arthur do?_ ”

The words tumbled inside Merlin’s head, feeling half-familiar; he hadn’t known Arthur for long in this life, only two years, only a matter of weeks; they were strangers, really, compared to the history held by this shade before him. Except for the part of him, the part of _them_ , that cried out, _never, never strangers_.

“He would have forged a third path,” said Merlin quietly, answering. 

“Two sides of the same coin,” said the old man, and the words settled into a space in Merlin’s mind that he hadn’t known was there. “When we were together, we changed the course of history. It never occurred to me that we could change the course of _our_ history along with it.” The sadness returned to his expression, and he gazed at Merlin somberly. “The Old Religion is about balance. While Arthur and I always had a strong partnership when we were together, my excess in years and knowledge always made it… unequal. Never again did I feel the same strength of a bond as the very first one. So I knew that I had to take a chance, had to trust that Arthur and I would find each other on our own.”

“Now.” The old man rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Veil has been torn; you should do something about that.”


	15. Chapter 15

It should not matter that the Veil had been torn in Cavalcade-That-Was, according the Emrys; the Veil was the same anywhere, and he need only summon the Gatekeeper to initiate the closing.

She appeared even before he’d finished speaking the spell: an old woman, with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. The sight of her wrenched something in his chest. He might have been moved to… do something, he wasn’t entirely sure what, but then the black tendrils that he’d thought to be part of her robe coiled together and sliced into the very air, growing darker and denser until it seemed to leach the color from its surroundings.

The tear in the Veil, he realized.

“Leave that one to me, lad.” Merlin jumped; his older self had materialized right next to him. His skin tingled where a pale ghostly hand patted him on the shoulder. 

Merlin knew what the old man intended to do; they were, after all, the same person. “Wait. I thought it had to be a life.”

“I happen to be the embodiment of many, many lives,” said his older self indignantly. “A bit of a bend in the rules, I admit – but what is one more?” He strode forward, calling out cheerfully to the figure standing by the tear in the Veil, “Cailleach!”

She looked utterly unsurprised to see him. “Ah, so that is how you did it. We meet again, Emrys.” Merlin thought it might be a trick of the light, but it seemed to him that, for a fraction of a moment, the deep sadness on her face lifted.

“Gatekeeper, I have come to pay the toll for the closing of the Veil,” intoned the older Merlin. For all the formality of his words, there was a strange, undeniable _cheer_ to his tone, as if he was enjoying himself.

“You know that I can only accept the living, Emrys,” she replied somberly. “In that form, you are little more than a Shade.”

Emrys – it was easier to think of his older self as Emrys – regarded her with a knowing gaze, his good spirits undeterred. “Gatekeeper, you have existed between worlds since before the time of Man; you are wise and powerful, and wield the Old Magic as easily as my kind draw breath. But magic has long been given to Man, for only in the hands of my kind will it be able to change and grow. Who else understands it better than I, who has lived with it for so long?”

They were now standing close, two figures not entirely of this world; and it seemed to Merlin that there was a bright, steady light shining from Emrys’ form, perfectly countering the darkness rippling around the Gatekeeper. He realized that what little sunlight made it through the clouds did not touch the old woman, and yet Emrys stood before her, unafraid; he wondered if it was anything at all like feeling the sun under a sky after growing up in the cold void of space.

“There are rules,” insisted Cailleach.

“Aye, there are,” said Emrys. “And yet, I am as I have ever been: human. So I challenge; I question; I _defy_. The magic can decide if I am acceptable.” He tilted his head. “Or will you battle me at last, old friend?”

The darkness pulsed. Cailleach’s worn face gazed intently at Emrys. 

Finally, she stepped aside. 

Emrys paused and turned to look at Merlin. “Take care of him for me.”

“Of course,” said Merlin; his voice sounded hoarse, as if he’d been the one speaking.

A low bow, which somehow managed to be both teasing and not, then Emrys was giving him a bright smile, which Merlin could not help but return through blurry eyes. Emrys faced the torn Veil again and jauntily offered his arm to Cailleach. “Shall we, my Lady?”

To everyone’s surprise, the Gatekeeper took his arm with a formal delicacy. The two of them strode off; the space between their feet and the ripples of darkness looked to only be a few paces, and yet they kept walking past when they should have reached the tear, as if the path was lengthening before them; slowly they grew hard to see, fading as the darkness faded; finally, the air was calm once more, the sun shining warmly between the trees.

 

It seemed… less than real, to return to the Castle after everything he’d learned. Arthur was quieter than usual the entire way back; Merlin didn’t blame him, and his Knights knew enough to leave him well alone. 

He hadn’t gotten around to telling Arthur about his older self. Maybe one day.

They had a possible invasion by Morgana’s army to prepare for, anyway.

 

Every person in the Castle seemed to be armed. Even Gwen sported a long knife, which hung in a scabbard from her tool belt while she made incremental adjustments to Mithian’s crossbow. 

“We are taught to protect ourselves at a young age. In case you haven’t noticed, our world is full of danger.” Gwen turned to Mithian. “How does it feel now?”

Mithian hefted the crossbow, sighting down the body. “The balance is a lot better, thank you.”

The Close was beginning to resemble a war room. Maps were spread out everywhere, tacked up on walls, interspersed with lists and copies of ledgers.

“If your people cannot match the level of magic that Morgana’s forces wield, then I will not have them throwing their lives away,” said Arthur to Iseldir, the leader of the Druids.

“Sire, we are still people of Camelot,” said the man patiently. “If we cannot fight using magic, then we will use blades and bows alongside our kinsmen. To ask us to step aside while others bleed would be an insult to our heritage – the same heritage as your own.”

There were several days of such; of talks and speedy training and reinforcements of the Castle. Then a messenger came running in to speak to Arthur: a falling star sighted from the Lower Town.

Arthur’s face was grim. “Sound the call to arms.”

 

It was said, later, that the ships fell from the sky like hail. Many continued falling, until they crashed into the ground; the occupants unconscious, if not dead. Countless more must have been taken by the Dragon, or missed the planet entirely. Some on Camelot cheered at the early losses of these impudent invaders; those who could see the faces of the Cavalcade survivors did not.

 

“Don’t worry, Arthur,” said Gwen. “The Castle can hold out for a long time.”

“There are four other settlements, and countless smaller villages and towns,” said Arthur grimly. “You saw what she did to the Cavalcade. She will destroy them all, just to draw me out.” 

“She killed your father, Sire,” said Leon. Arthur looked neither surprised nor particularly bothered that that piece of news had apparently gotten out. 

“My people’s lives are worth more than anyone’s pride. Definitely more than anyone’s anger.” 

Merlin stared. He thought he could understand, now, the fierce pride in the eyes of the people around them; the way Camelot and Arthur seemed bound up in each other, inseparable; the dedication of his Knights that went deeper than either duty or death.

A _good man_ , Emrys had called him.

“We need to draw Morgana out. There’s a clearing over there,” said Arthur, pointing off towards one patch of the woods that, to Merlin, looked exactly the same as every other patch of the woods. “She is the most powerful of the sorcerors, and she cares not for innocent lives.”

“I think I know how,” said Merlin.

 

“She might – and I emphasize _might_ – agree to your terms, Arthur, but you must know that she will likely betray you at the first opportunity.”

“I know, Merlin,” sighed Arthur. “But I _have_ to try. I know that she’s already betrayed the Cavalcade. I can’t – I _have_ to.”

It was on the tip of Merlin’s tongue to expound on all the ways Morgana had betrayed him in the past, in many other lives, and he only knew the ones Emrys had been willing to tell him about. “But _why?_ ”

Arthur gazed at him helplessly. “Because this might be the one time she doesn’t.”

Merlin stared at him for a long moment. “The gods save me from good men,” he finally muttered. “You are… nutters, absolutely, unreasonably nutters. Lucky for you that I am, too, because I love you, which would have automatically conferred nut-hood to me if I didn’t, as mentioned, already come pre-nutty.”

There was a distinct huffing of muffled laughter nearby, but Merlin’s attention was all on Arthur’s face; specifically the way it was looking sort of dazed, like somebody had hit it with one of his ridiculous jousting sticks. “You love me?”

Merlin frowned. “Was that not obvious?”

“Um, I’m not – I’ve never really-”

Reaching the end of his patience, and badly wanting, suddenly, to erase all traces of uncertainty on Arthur’s face, Merlin yanked him close and crushed their mouths together. The kiss did not start with any pretense of chasteness; within seconds, they were tasting each other’s mouths, delving and teasing and sucking gently, wet and yearning and all the flavours of desperation.

 

The land awoke – that was what it felt like, to Merlin. He supposed it might be an effect of the ship-crashes disturbing the native life; it was like a swelling tide of energy, a silent uproar. He hadn’t given much thought to the Druids’ view that the planet was suited to magic, perhaps naturally tied to it in some way. He was beginning to suspect that they were right.

He barely needed to reach out; magic came to him at the slightest thought, as if he could start a hurricane with a breath and a wave of his finger.

 _Morgana,_ he called out. He used no wind, yet nearby trees shivered. _This is Emrys. I am waiting for you._

 

The raider ship bearing Morgana landed in the middle of the clearing. Merlin felt the build of energy right before the doors opened. He thought of a dome, like one of the Cavalcade’s clear, near-invisible shields; lightning lashed out as Morgana emerged, and struck the dome, bouncing back onto the ship.

Morgana shouted, in a language that seemed to sink into the very elements around them. Darkness arced down from the sky, strong winds spiraling around her; Merlin felt the build of energy even before she uttered the words to unleash all of it.

He raised his hand. There were words, half-remembered, but he didn’t need them.

“No,” he said.

The darkness seemed to flinch; the energy dissipated, the spell unraveling, until not even a slight breeze touched Merlin’s palm. 

He stared at Morgana. She was familiar, and yet not so; he had known her better, in her other lives, and not known her at all. They were not always friends; they were not always enemies. She stared at him now as if he was the bane of the world. 

“What are you waiting for?” she shouted. “Destroy me!”

He knew that she had taken Arthur from him, in the past. She was trying to do so, even now. But he found it remarkably easier to forgive when he could not remember those lives; when he was free to see, with fresh eyes, the fear that lived in hers.

He was the one who had had to live through their battles, yes; lived through the hatred and loss and betrayals. But it struck him now: how much more frightening would it have been, to see that never-ending cycle of pain, when one was but a young child?   
Morgana’s gifts changed with each lifetime. But the constant, the strongest, always the first to manifest, were her Visions.

He said, sadly, “I never wanted to destroy you, Morgana.”

He took a step back, and then another, another, until he was standing a little behind Arthur.

“Morgana, if I had known,” said Arthur, “I would have called you sister, at the first.”

“The throne of Camelot is my birthright,” said Morgana.

“If you win the day, now, and take it from me,” said Arthur, “what then? Will you rule by force, through terror? The people will not accept you, the _land_ will not accept you.”

“I have the strength to hold them both!” cried Morgana.

“Yes, you do.” Arthur paused, calm never wavering. “But then, you will be no different from Agravaine. No different from Uther.”

The mounting energy of her rage vanished, sapped; she stared at Arthur with wide eyes. “What will you do with me, then? You do not have backbone to kill me, I can see as much. Will you keep me as a vassal? A prize to adorn your Court, a brood mare to be won by one of your men?”

Standing as close as he was, Merlin saw the wince in Arthur’s stance, even if he didn’t let it show on his face. “I am sorry that your life has been unkind, and the world you’ve known so harsh,” said Arthur, “But that does not justify all the innocents you have killed, all the lives you have destroyed.” He paused, gaze growing intent. “A compromise. You will not have the throne of Camelot. But I will acknowledge you as my sister, and you will have the same rights as I, as a child of Uther, with the only conditions being that you will never act against Camelot, and you will not get the throne upon my death.”

Anger and outrage blazed on her face once more, but Arthur raised a hand, and to Merlin’s surprise, she hesitated. “I know it does not seem much to you, now,” continued Arthur, “so I will tell you plainly: I will not have children.”

Merlin blinked, startled; he wasn’t sure why, as he knew this would be so. To his further shock, Arthur turned and held out his hand. Merlin instinctively took it.

“Aside from the biological limitations for my beloved and myself,” said Arthur, a startling hint of humor coloring his tone, while Merlin silently reeled from being called _beloved_ in front of _Morgana_ , “it has come to my attention that this is – a fact, as unchangeable as your Visions. I will die without a child of my body.” It was then that Merlin realized: Arthur must have spoken with his older self, without Merlin realizing. _That sneaky prat._ “And so the succession will fall to your line. If you choose not to marry or bear children, you may adopt, or merely appoint someone as your successor.”

Morgana stared at them both with shocked eyes. “But – the Pendragon bloodline.”

“Runs also in your veins,” Arthur reminded her gently. “If you’re particularly attached to it, have a few babes. I would as soon as abandon the system, myself. The Cavalcade is gone, after all; it would be fitting for House Pendragon to be laid to rest, now, alongside our kindred from the first journey.” 

After a long moment, Morgana said, “I will think on this.”

“Morgana,” said Arthur, “sister. I wish us to know one another, as we should have, all these years.”

“I _had_ a sibling, and she is dead,” hissed Morgana, her eyes briefly alighting on Merlin, “and for that, I will loathe you forever, Emrys.” But there was no more lightning, no more flashes of darkness; she gathered her cloak and waited, as Knights and Guards ran into the clearing; let Merlin bound her with ties of light and cast a spell of holding over her while she stood tall and proud as any queen.

 

“Arthur, you said you wanted me to see something?”

Merlin became impatient with the darkness within the cave, and conjured up the ball of light. Arthur was by the Heart console; he beckoned Merlin close.

“I was looking through this,” said Arthur, “and I think I figured out what she meant, when she said she didn’t want to die.” Arthur hesitated. “Why she sat on the pilot-chair that one last time.”

The cave trembled, crystals tinkling; a line appeared over the ceiling. It widened to a crack, grew larger; what had looked like a continuous curve of rock was apparently two pieces, and they were now retracting. Merlin couldn’t help but be reminded of his Crip, the Line of Life where his artificial skin could slide open to provide access to the mechanisms below. 

He knew, somehow, before he heard the now-familiar hum of engines. He remembered the paintings on the Castle’s Outer Hall; remembered wondering why Ygraine was sleeping in a cave.  
The familiar ship glided down, hovering for a moment before landing softly. There must be some sort of external access, Merlin thought. Arthur had said that this area was full of little valleys.

“Hello, Arthur,” said Excalibur. Only – Merlin knew that voice, because he’d heard it when they first found Ygraine’s Heart, the lonely queen recording her thoughts as she worked.

“Queen Ygraine?” Arthur coughed, breathing harsh; whispered, "Mother?"

A faint hiss of static, and then the same voice, only without the flatness of digitizers, came through: "I am recording this because I do not know what I will sound like, after, or if I will even have – if there will be anything recognizable of me left. The Diamair has told me zie will leave soon. Arthur, my darling, I love you. I cannot know what kind of person you will grow up to be, and I am sorry I cannot be there, not in the way I should be.” A deep breath. “I did this for you, and because I didn't want to die. Can you forgive me for that? _I didn't want to die._ "

Arthur's expression shifted through a hundred different emotions. A lifetime, thought Merlin.

In the end, all he said out loud was, "Yes."

 

Merlin left Arthur to sit alone for a while, wandering to look at some limpid sun-dragons hanging over the cave entrance. When he finally came back, he was shocked to find Excalibur parked a good distance away from the entrance, where she her wings could fit, while Arthur sat next to her, leaning against her side. Merlin sat down next to him, and Arthur let out a long, deep breath.

"I... I don't know what to think," said Arthur, staring at his hands. "Can she really be my mother? Or does she only think she is? I never knew her in life; how can I tell?"

"I think - only you can know what this means to yourself, Arthur." Merlin gently took his hands; so much of their relationship, he realized, had revolved around the touching of their hands. "For what it's worth - remember that, whatever else she is, she's always been Excalibur." That got Arthur to look up at him. "She's protected you all your life, took you out into the stars and carried you home again. All the remarkable things she’s done, those supposed glitches when she ignored her programming to keep you safe. That has to mean something."

“It does,” said Arthur fervently. “I don’t know what any of this means – not just for myself, but, you know, humanity, if such a thing could be possible. But – everything you said – they do mean something.”

“An old man once told me that us finding each other always starts – a new age.” Merlin pressed a hand against Excalibur’s warm hull. “I guess this counts.”

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, to Morgana,” said Merlin. “And I think you’re wrong on one point.”

There was a shriek of laughter from the river. The two of them watched with bemusement as a shirtless Gwaine was pursued by a Wilddeoren out of the a hole by the water; Elyan and Percival were reluctantly climbing to their feet to lend aid; Elaine was dozing on one of Excalibur’s wings, Gwen’s tool belt doubling as a lumpy pillow; Mordred and Mithrain and Lancelot were sparring; Morgana was sitting on a log, at the edge of the action but not wholly apart from it, speaking quietly with Hunith.

“Oh?” said Arthur.

“You said that the Cavalcade is gone.” 

When Merlin turned his head towards Arthur, he saw that Arthur was looking at him, eyes as blue as the sky above them; golden and sun-warm and familiar and fierce and _everything_ that Merlin wanted to know, all over again.

He leaned and said, right onto the smile-curved softness of Arthur’s mouth, “The Cavalcade is not gone; we finally found home,” and kissed him.


End file.
